Angel Halo: Time of Judgement
by Spiritblade
Summary: An original story based on the H-game by Active Software. A supernatural tale of the sins of the father, love, lust, power and damnation. //STOP WORK ORDER ISSUE - EDITING AND UPGRADING IN PROGRESS//
1. Opening Intro

_**Angel Halo**_

_**-- Time of Judgement --**_

_**Written by Spiritblade**_

_**How you are fallen Heaven,**_

_**Oh Daystar, Son Of Dawn,**_

_**How you are cut down to the ground;**_

_**You who laid nations low.**_

_**Isaiah 14:12**_

-- Angel Halo Introduction Opening

Disclaimer:

This novel is based on the original H-game, Angel Halo, by Active Software. I own nothing save the characters I make, and the background stories I have added to give flesh and blood to the story. This is a fan-work, and I am acquiring no profits from this. Please do not sue – I am too poor, thanks to God and the Adversary slamming me with lawsuits that will take me eternity to get through.

Angel Halo is, however, a sequel to a project that will be initiated upon its completion. The prologue of Angel Halo is, however, the final lines that you will see in its prequel, Throne of Lucifer. It sets in motion the events of Angel Halo.

Also, do note that this disclaimer will be changed upon the completion of the story. Along the way, I may pull a lot of genres belonging to other people and companies, and as such, will give them their due when it is done.

Okay – enough talk. Now, let's get on with the countdown to Gehenna.

Spiritblade

P.S.: I have posted this story on also, but I'm also posting it here so that you guys can read it here as well without jumping to the other side.


	2. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

_**Israel, Golan Heights, National Geographic Expedition Site, 25th December 1977**_

There it is. There, almost three hundred feet beneath the hallowed ground of the Holy Land, was a place dedicated to Evil. A place where the relic of an era long vanished into misty legend survived.

Standing in the calm heart of a blazing inferno of the mountain's fiery heart was an enormous black-and-gold cross that gleamed with the light of the sea of fire that surrounded it. It stood impaled upon a block of stone and held in place by steel chains that lashed out from the earthen vault that surrounded me. One part of my mind not screaming from pain told me, ludicrously, that this was like the Sword in the Stone out of Britain's Arthurian legends. If it was so, then that sword sleeping chained in the heart of the sea of fire would probably be Excalibur.

I wish it were. I wish it had been anything save what I knew that gleaming black cross to be.

That enormous gleaming cross is the Dawn Breaker, the legendary sword that was once wielded by Lucifer in his rebellion against God. A relic that was older than time and with power equivalent to that of the Lance of Longinius. That same Lance had caused thousands of deaths in World War 2 when it fell into the hands of Nazi Germany.

The sacrifices made to reclaim that sacred relic had been horrendous. And now, over three decades later, history repeated itself. Only this time, the relic that we were sent to claim was not one blessed by God, but by His Adversary. The danger and the risks were no lesser than the ones my predecessors have made over thirty years ago. We did not want to risk the Dawn Breaker falling into the wrong hands.

The moment that an Israeli Army reconnaissance team had discovered the Black Cathedral hidden in a mountain behind an abandoned monastery, it set in motion a chain of events that had led to this. The moment Professor James Dover of National Geographic broke the chained and warded gates, the evil imprisoned within the Black Cathedral seeped out into Israel. Within a week, the Palestinian intifada, or uprising, re-ignited with the fury of a vengeful god.

Hate is an easier emotion to engender than love. Disagree with me as you wish – I'd seen it far too many times to say otherwise. It blinds any man or woman to the concept of mercy or compassion. It is that one emotion that had led to the turning of a man high in the Church hierarchy. I had never trusted him from the start but neither did I expect him to be the one that had been the mastermind behind it all. I had sorely underestimated the hatred that motivated him, and the malicious cunning of placing the blame sorely on our shoulders.

Because of him, the mission we undertook was one from which he expected us to never return. He was right. This suicide mission into Israel had taken only two months – and in the process annihilated the corps de' elite of the Vatican Inquisition. The Order of St. Michael had technically ceased to exist. In the sixty days that encompassed the mission, disaster followed us like a pestilence. Each disaster was a trial that tested the faith and courage of my compatriots to their breaking point. Strong as they are, they are but normal men and women. All of them had weaknesses.

I am no different. So, why is it that I am still alive? I possess a list of weaknesses that is longer than my damn arm and enough holes in my soul that it wouldn't be worth spit to the Creator. I should have been the first to perish, considering that I had broken a blood contract with a being who had been instrumental in the person I had become.

Instead, I would bear witness to the deaths of 10 of my 15 comrades before the decision was made to go straight to the eye of the storm to end it once and for all. In our robes and bearing our weapons, Inquisitor-Captain Wesley, the commander of the Order of St. Michael, would tell us the reason as to why we were sent to Israel. Anger would meet his revelations, but as he went on, we realised that we were all puppets. The weight of every death of comrades he had worked with for years was crushing.

One would have thought that the first reaction against all this opposition was to run. A man with common sense would have done that. We did not have that luxury – and even if we did, we would not have taken that road. Played for fools, betrayed and made pariahs, fleeing now would have made true every lie that our treacherous superior told the majority of the Vatican. It would take a miracle – or a sacrifice – of near Moses-like proportions to clear our names of the 'heresies' that Galford had piled on top of us.

What I am about to do is going to validate every lie that he had accused us of. He coveted the Dawn Breaker and wanted the Order of St. Michael to pave the way for him while his lapdogs whisked it away over our cold, dead corpses at the moment we managed to remove it from its sanctuary. Even now, Wesley and two others were blocking the way, ensuring that none of the parties that Galford had sent to eliminate us and claim the Dawn Breaker would break through the upper levels of the subterranean Black Cathedral.

Because, frankly speaking, I can no longer fight. The wounds I have on me are nothing short of crippling. I spat a curse and bit back the pain, using my katana to help me to my feet. The scent of burning flesh that still wafted in the Vault of the Dawn Breaker was the final legacy of Aziel Helmraz. The wounds I suffered were his final parting gift to me and his last words were full of that effete self-righteousness that I find so disgusting. Nevertheless, Rabbi Aziel Helmraz had been a good man if not stiff-necked.

"You are a faithless man, Shateiel. How and why Inquisitor Captain Wesley has chosen you to be part of the Order of St. Michael is beyond me. His reasoning to have you claim the Dawn Breaker while our compatriots sacrifice their lives for you is one I do not agree with. To wield a weapon of Evil such as this, a man has to have faith in God. You do not have that quality, Shateiel. I will prove to you that faith in God can and will conquer the Darkness."

I staggered forward, the first step towards the black cross that stood in the distance, the rabbi's words echoing in my ears like the dull roar of the mountain's fiery heart.

"See! See!" and Aziel held the Dawn Breaker, his eyes alight with mad glee, "See the power of faith, faithless Shateiel! God has chosen me to wield the Dawn Breaker and keep it safe from the infidel Muslims and the egotistical Christians! At last, my people need not fear! With this, I can lead my people to the Promised Land that God has promised us!"

Aziel's eyes had been full of wild, mad joy as he looked at me, feeling none of the pain as the Sword immolated him, causing his skin to melt like wax, his blood to become vapour and his flesh and bones to become dust. He was laughing and mocking me even as he died.

"Yo, man! So, you're Shateiel, eh? I've heard some nifty things about you from Inquisitor-Captain Wesley. You don't mind if I find out the truth, do you?"

In my mind, the dark-haired and skinned Raphael Carleon was alive once more and I could see the long-sword that was his favourite weapon. Both of us were gunfighters, and thus, utilised heavy pistols along with bladed weapons as part of our arsenals. Raphael was a decade my senior and at thirty-five, he had the physique and reflexes of a veteran Ranger – or so most people thought.

"You're an okay man, Shateiel. I don't care jack-shit about what Aziel or anyone else says. Your heart's in the right place – and that's all that matters."

Wasn't his in the right place as well? Raphael was the easy-going sort, and wasn't the type to hold grudges against anyone. It took a lot to make him angry – and once he was, he is more than capable of taking down more than half-a-dozen brawlers in a straight fight. And to think it happened once before.

"Oh, hell – not again! Shateiel, you mind – oh, got started already, eh? Well then, boys, don't keep me waiting!"

Raphael was the closest friend and rival to Ezekiel Rage. Each time there was a tournament held amongst the paladin Orders, it was common sense not to get in between Ezekiel and Raphael. The two of them would be pounding each other silly without regard to anyone else. And those two would be laughing like lunatics when it was all done. I always believed they were into the rivalry for sheer mayhem than anything else. It gave them their younger years back.

"Ezekiel, don't do this. This is not right."

I took another step.

Those were Raphael's last words before the fateful fight that saw to Ezekiel Rage dying and Raphael taking his own life after the fight. He could not live with the fact that he had murdered his own friend – a sin, to his eyes, that was beyond forgiveness. The friendly rivalry that they held dear became the wedge that made them bitter enemies and saw their swords cross with the intention of killing the other.

"So, you're the new man. Welcome. My name is Ezekiel Rage. I'll be your instructor starting from today. And trust me, boy, you're not going to have it easy."

Ezekiel Rage was a golden-haired albino. He was Raphael's total opposite. Raphael was one of the instructors who saw to my training. Built like a quarterback in American football, the crimson-eyed giant was easily the biggest man in the entire Order of St. Michael and would have given Mike Tyson or Mohammed Ali a run for his money if he went into professional boxing. Ezekiel was capable of hefting his great hammer with no sign of strain and the force behind it when swung was more than capable of knocking an elephant straight into the sky. Simply put, unless you want a drastically shortened life, you didn't go about angering Ezekiel. Even I wasn't that stupid – though Raphael couldn't care less. Good thing that Ezekiel had an immortal's patience.

"No! No! Swing it in that fashion and you'll leave yourself open to an attack! Shinomori! Show him!"

As demanding as Ezekiel was, he had good intentions. The responsibilities demanded of us required us to be strong of mind, body and spirit. He wanted to make sure I would be able to stand up against the might of the Adversary's servants. He more or less succeeded in his endeavour.

I took another step.

The only chink in his armour was the rivalry he had with Raphael. If Ezekiel had a flaw, it was that he couldn't stand losing. Especially not to Raphael – period. That set in motion the events that would lead to the fatal duel between the two friends. It came to a head when Raphael had managed to exorcise the demon possessing a Jewish girl and Ezekiel killed her, believing her to still be possessed.

Raphael's voice sounded in my mind, "Ezekiel, for the love of God, don't do it!"

The roar of the mountain's fiery heart was like the hammer-blow that ended an innocent's life and saw to two brothers crossing swords.

"Knowledge is a pure thing, Shateiel. It is how you use it that matters," came the voice of Michael Adel, one of the three scholar-sorcerers in the Order. His brown hair, green eyes and spectacles gave him the look of your average nerd in University. The problem was that this nerd knew how to fight, handle guns, and practices four different types of martial arts and take-downs that would put commandos to shame. You don't judge some books by the cover.

"Knowing God is perhaps the highest praise I know."

Adel was the Intelligence Branch of the Order who knew everything and anything that happened in the Vatican. He had access to places that even Inquisitor-Captain Wesley did not.

"There are some things that are best kept secret, Shateiel. I can tell you some – because I know you will keep it from Wesley anyway."

It was Adel's death that made us realise that there was an enemy behind us. Despite his formidable fighting skills, there were some adversaries that Adel could not defeat. During the quest, he brought up mention to me about the mystical Book of Enoch, the tome that had granted the Vatican's Paladins their holy powers, that was hidden in Jerusalem's catacombs.

"Shateiel, have you ever heard of the Book of Enoch? You have read some of the scripts that we have compiled, yes? You have sensed the enormity of the power, haven't you? A majority of our spells and wards use the same principles and backgrounds as the ones detailed in the Book. Even Inquisitor-General Galford and the highest ranking members of the Vatican cannot possibly have more than a quarter of the rituals within it."

In the catacombs, we faced down, for the first time, traitor paladins – more than three dozen of them. Outnumbered and overpowered, we had no choice but to retreat. Adel refused to go.

"Knowledge is a pure thing, Shateiel. It is how you use it that matters. I believe in that. I will not let the Vatican touch this – not even to seal it in the Vaults of our Immortal Saviour. The chance of such knowledge being misused is too high..."

I took another step forward.

"Complete the mission, Captain. This is one time where we will have to stand on our own. This will be our hardest trial yet but I know you'll win. Because, simply put, you won't let them."

And when he incinerated the Book of Enoch, he brought the catacombs down on him and Galford's lackeys. One entire part of Jerusalem collapsed under a massive explosion that was blamed upon a faulty pipeline. Those catacombs would be Adel's tomb-stone, his name remembered only by those who knew him.

The aged face of Hayami Inazuki, one of the three Japanese in the Order of St. Michael, super-imposed itself on my mind. Even at 56, Hayami was the oldest member of the Order and was by de-facto agreement, the second-in-command. He had fought in the Second World War and had distinguished himself at Iwo Jima. For all his 56 years of age, Hayami had the strength and constitution that would put a man half his age to shame.

"You cannot tell whether a person is good or bad by his vicissitudes in life. Good and bad fortunes are simply matters of fate. Good and bad actions are Man's Way. Retribution of both is simply taught as a moral lesson."

Hayami had undertaken the task to training me alongside Ezekiel and Raphael when I entered the Order of St. Michael. Of all the men in the Gladius Dei, or the Sword of God, Hayami was a warrior-priest in every sense of the word. He combined the samurai training and discipline of his homeland and the Church's teachings into one harmonious whole. He instilled such disciplines into his proteges. The end side-effect of it was that they became more Japanese than anything else.

"Make your decision, Reiha-kun, in the space of seven breaths. Keep your mind focused and decide swiftly. In battle, you may have only one or none at all."

Hayami had also been responsible for molding the man Wesley is now. The sole survivor of our predecessors in World War 2, Hayami was spared their doomed fate when he returned home to Japan to defend it from America. It was a heavy cross to bear but Hayami bore it with dignity. He could have taken his own life, yes, but he knew that there was more he could do alive than dead.

"I will die, eventually, Aoshi-kun, Reiha-kun. That has been written in the stars and whispered in the wind. I can but choose my own death. I will not dishonour the memory of my country or my friends."

Of all the paladins who went for the Israel mission, Hayami was the only one who died a natural death. Old age and heartbreak had finally caught up with him and we found his body on the rooftop of the rented house we made as our base of operations. He had passed on under the stars he so loved to watch, his body wrapped by a warm cloak and a quiet smile on his face.

"Only by living can you change something…so don't go about thinking that dying is the best solution. It's the coward's way out. And I know you are no coward."

I take another heavy step forward…I dare not fall now. I know that if I did, I would not have the strength to get back up again. But, it is not easy, considering the amount of blood I've lost…

"Can't you do anything right? Must the captain and I baby-sit you?"

The stern, admonishing voice of Lisa Randolph entered my mind with the force of a thrown lance. Emerald-haired and violet-eyed, the tempestuous and beautiful Valkyrie of the Order was not a woman to be taken lightly. Even amongst the other Paladin Orders, it is of constant debate of who was the real Captain of the St. Michael paladins. Lisa carried herself with the authority that is rarely ever present in Wesley.

"I hope Hayami has been training you properly, Shateiel. I'm not going to hold back."

As though she ever did. That was Lisa's strongest point. Her determination to win. Her refusal to back down despite overwhelming odds. Telling Lisa that it was a losing situation was only going to make her try even harder. She wanted to prove herself Wesley's superior. It had been Lisa's long-standing dream to become the St. Michael's Paladins commander. She had worked hard for it only to discover that Wesley had gotten there before her.

"Will you turn over command to me, Wesley? I have more experience in dealing with situations like this than you ever will in your lifetime."

But, like me, we shared one flaw. Pride. It was that pride that made her challenge Wesley's authority time and time again. In Israel, her ambition deepened into obsession. Why had she been passed over for a mere novice? Why had she, a Paladin of the 4th Circle, been passed over for captaincy of the St. Michael Paladins and a 7th Circle Paladin chosen?

And finally, unable to withstand the outrage that had long smouldered in her breast, Lisa chose to take direct action. On the 15th night, she went forth to do away with Wesley as he went into Jerusalem's market quarter to get last-minute supplies for our trip to Nablus and take the captaincy. The Lisa we all knew would never have stooped that low as to commit murder – but her ambition and the seriousness of the situation made it seem – to her at least – the right choice.

She had committed the one sin that I would commit soon enough – betrayal.

And for that, Wesley killed a friend he could no longer recognise.

"I have dreams like everyone else, you know. What about you?"

I do have dreams, Lisa, but when this betrayal is done, I will not have even that anymore.

Six steps taken…

"Ni hao, Sha Ziya. My name is Huimin Chen. I shall be your team-mate here on out."

If Hayami had given me my Japanese name, then Huimin had given me my Chinese one. She was one of my team-mates in the Order and had come from a Chinese family of renowned exorcists who had close ties with the Inquisition of the Vatican. When Hell broke loose on any side of the globe involving the supernatural, long-standing oaths would see to either side sending several members to aid the other.

"My position within the Order of St. Michael is an honorary one, Sha Ziya. While I hold power equal to Captain Wesley or Lisa, I am no Christian. But my family has devoted itself to fighting Evil – and so we shall."

Huimin Chen was a cute girl – make no mistake about that – but young. With her large sapphire eyes and black hair, perky nature and somewhat carefree attitude, she looked more like a high-school student than a Paladin of the Order. But, when it came down to a fight, she was a formidable fighter and more clear-headed than most. Even when Wesley lost control of a situation, Huimin always had a back-up plan in her sleeve.

"Why do the Children of God do such things to themselves, Shateiel?"

If Huimin had one flaw, it was perhaps her gentle heart. Though her hard exterior crashed down like a brick wall during her fights with the supernatural, nothing had prepared Huimin for the intifada in the Middle East. It never occurred to her that she would view first-hand the brutality and hate that Man can do to itself out of blind hate and rage.

"Tell me truthfully, Sha Ziya. Are there things you regret?"

Seven steps…

Yes. I cannot protect the people I love. I cannot even stand there and take the blow for them. Huimin Chen died trying to rescue school children from a burning schoolhouse when a Hamas militant fired an RPG into it.

"I cannot believe I'm going to be led by a green recruit, captain!"

The annoying voice of Randall Masters, the gun specialist of the Order and a long-time veteran of the Inquisition, echoed in my head. Strange on how memories flash back before you so crystal clear when your end is about to come. It gives me comfort and strength, their voices and their faces. No matter how they died, I remember the people they were before. They may have failed, but Wesley, Tsubaki, Aoshi and I have failed right along with them.

"I see it but I don't believe it. Tsubaki has the hots for you, Shateiel. What did you do? Pour love potion into her tea?"

Randall had always been the roguish sort. If anyone stood up like a sore thumb in the Order, it was Randall. You would never believe that this man was actually an elite Paladin. Just when I thought I saw everything, Randall would go ahead and prove me wrong. How in the holy name of God he remained within the Order is a miracle in itself.

"You're steel outside but feathers inside, Shateiel."

Randall had always liked Tsubaki, another member in the Order of St. Michael, but the Japanese shrine-girl clearly disliked him on more than just professional reasons. Or maybe, it was something else…Tsubaki's intuition was sharper than Huimin's ability to sense evil. She told me that because of my relationship with Cameela, I was familiar with evil in its various guises, and thus, could withstand temptation. She, however, questioned Randall's strength of will to do so.

How I wished Tsubaki had been wrong about Randall.

And how I wished she was so very wrong about me.

Envy and lust had been Randall's greatest weakness. In Israel where the air itself held an evil taint that seeped into the souls of all in the Holy Land, it had strengthened Randall's darker side. It was a slow corruption and I've long known that the path of damnation need not be instant. Its cancerous seed can be planted long before it can bear fruit. The hunger to possess Tsubaki reached a fever pitch and when he tried to rape her and the Beast I had fought so hard to chain tore itself free.

I heard Cameela's soft, mocking laugh at the back of my mind.

My damnation began from there. Before Wesley committed the sin of murder – the Sin of Caine – I preceded him by slaying my own comrade to protect another.

"This mission may well be our last, Shateiel. I am proud that I strode with you."

Eight steps taken…

"Ah, Shateiel! Good to see you! You're in time for dinner. I've managed to save an extra-large portion for you. Ah-ah…not a word, boy. With Hayami and all the rest driving you like a slave, you even look hungry."

The cheery voice of Richard Sanders entered my mind. He was a big man, but unlike Ezekiel, Richard was fat. He acted as the caretaker of the orphanages in Rome. Many a time I have seen Richard, it was always with a menagerie of children crowding around him, listening to his stories.

"…And then he rushed forward, his sword sparkling with the fury of the Sky God to meet his adversary. For he knew that while he could not prevail, he was determined that neither shall his adversary. How alike they were, cut from the same cloth, these birds of a feather."

I do not have the courage to tell those children that the man they loved and looked up to as a parent would no longer be there to tell them stories, comfort them or tuck them in. I cannot stand in Richard Sanders's place.

"Each child is special, Shateiel. Each of them can change the world in a way that we cannot."

I dare not tell the children in the orphanage he watches over of how their favourite 'uncle' died.

We had been inspecting an old museum in the southern city of Gaza where one of Wesley's contacts had suspected that the late proprietor had kept hidden pages from the fabled Book of Judgement that the Vatican kept under lock and key. A priority order came down from the top, indicating that Wesley's contact had also informed our superiors, and they wanted us to find it. The museum was enormous and we had to split up to search for a possible place where the proprietor had hidden it. Richard had chosen to search one of the exhibitions on the upper levels. When he didn't return, we searched for him and found him.

Or more accurately, what was left of him. His body looked like as though someone had been using it for a chew toy. Upon closer inspection, we realised, to our horror, that Richard had eaten himself alive. It was at the scene of his masticated corpse that Tsubaki found the manuscripts that we had been searching for hidden behind the portrait of the Last Supper. On one of the manuscripts was a scene like the one we were facing.

"I bless you, Shateiel, in the name of the Sky God. May thou be the aegis against the Darkness and may you one day be Tsubaki's husband. God knows she needs someone like you."

My lips curled in a sad smile as I remembered the children laughing and poking fun at me at the end of the story-telling session. No more of that now.

Nine steps….

"I praise thee, oh Holy Father. May thy grace bless your children and may thy hand protect them against Evil."

A prayer rose in my mind. I sank to my knees again, gritting my teeth against the tidal wave of agony that washed over me. And yet, the prayer and the voice was crystal clear amidst the agony. I've heard the prayer many times that I can almost recall the entire verse that is spoken at every Sunday Mass. I've never attended it – period. No matter what threats my superiors came up with. Why? I could not stand the hypocrisy.

But, the voice that spoke it was one that can make anyone believe in God again – regardless of religion.

"God's Word is not a lie, Shateiel. But what Man does with it can sometimes be disappointing. Does it ever make you wonder why Man is perhaps the only race capable of creating weapons for the sole purpose of destroying his brothers? Does it make you wonder where the hate came from?"

Silvana's warm, quiet face appeared in my mind. Red-gold hair framed her face like a halo and her lean form was due to a near Spartan regime of discipline and training. She was the younger sister of Richard Sanders by almost 15 years, putting her at 23 years old – the same age as Huimin Chen. Though she and Richard were siblings, they were as different as night was from day. Richards was an extrovert whom everyone found easy to get along; his sister was the direct opposite. She found it difficult to mix with people outside the cloth. The young American girl was Wesley's lover – a fact that was frowned on by a good majority of the Inquisition who had very strict rules about celibacy.

"Faith is akin to light. Truth is the road in which Faith lights the way. That is the basic truth of God's Word. It is a sad thing when people start valuing the light more than the road…and far too often, it leads to great tragedies."

I did not disapprove of the relationship. With her around, Wesley became steadier and more confident. She was his guardian angel – right up to the very end. It was not the Enemy who killed her but common thugs. When Wesley and I found her, it had already been too late.

"Wesley-chan…I'm sorry…I…"

I still remember her dying whisper, the pain and emotion that was heart-breaking. That was the first time Wesley got angry – period. The wrath of God is as nothing compared to the fury that rose in Wesley's crimson eyes. Burdened by so many of his friends slain, the death of Silvana was perhaps his breaking point. I felt the rage in my soul explode into a conflagration when my amber eyes gazed upon Silvana's broken body lying on the dusty cobblestones and back at the sneering faces of the thugs. What they had done to her made me blind to any thought of mercy. The devil in me was howling pissed.

"Have faith, Shateiel, and God will have mercy."

Her voice echoed in my mind of better days long gone. I will not hear Silvana's warm voice telling me that it will be all right. I would miss the way she would blush when Huimin Chen teased her about her relationship with Wesley. I will no longer see her cooking for the orphans at the orphanages her brother watched over. I will not see the children she could have given a good man.

All of that crumbled to dust in a moment of misfortune. Gone – all gone. Silvana may have understood the concept of mercy – but there are those in this world that do not deserve it. I know this better than most – because I am one of them.

I got up and took the tenth step.

We left the corpses of 15 armed thugs in that alley. The Israeli police and troopers who cleared that scene would suffer nightmares for a long time to come. For if God cannot protect the innocent, then I shall punish the guilty in a fashion that would make His wrath seem insignificant in comparison.

"I will lead the traitors away from here, Captain. You and all the rest go to the Golan Heights. Too many of us have died, Wesley. We must prevent the Dawn Breaker from falling into Galford's hands. I would never have believed that he would fall this far."

Neither did I. I knew that Galford hated Wesley, but I would never have imagined the extent at which he would have gone in order to not only defeat but utterly humiliate, his hated rival. The first sin had been jealousy – not pride. And so it was that jealousy that led to us fighting our own brothers from the Vatican who believed that we were the ones that fell. Rolf Galahad would be the final sacrifice before Aziel.

"Hatred is a poisonous cancer that can eat away one's soul, Shateiel. The one reason why Wesley chose you amongst all the rest was so that we could make you come to terms with it – and let it go. Even the damned are not undeserving of repentance. And you are not that far gone…not yet."

Blue eyes and blue hair and a build not so different from Silvana, Rolf had been a professional police officer before he joined the Vatican Inquisition. He was a competent and thoughtful man, given over to thinking, and had been part of the blue boys' Special Victims Unit. He and Michael Adel were a pair, always found with noses poked in one book or another.

"Would you look at this book, Wesley? Come on…it's a change from all that stuff you read!"

Rolf loved alcohol. I've lost count of how many times he was caught smuggling it into the Vatican for our late-night binges. He had the Discipline Masters of the Orders looking for some excuse to bring to bear the nearest shotgun on him. On those nights, Rolf and I would talk about our pasts. Tsubaki would join in provided that sake was available – and Rolf always made sure it was. There was nothing pleasant about our pasts – ex-SVU cop and former Special Forces man – but it allowed us to come to terms with it.

"Promise me that you will not let Galford get away with this."

The promise you ask of me is not needed, Rolf. Because of this traitor, I've lost enough friends – and like before, I could do nothing to save them. I'm not letting him get away with this – not until I send his sorry excuse of a soul shrieking straight to Lucifer's throne room.

Eleven steps taken…eleven lives lost. Four steps till a decision is made and it all comes to an end…

"I would never have believed that he would have gone this far, Shateiel. He was my friend…once. Where did it all go wrong? Was it because he was jealous of me? Jealous because I took a place he coveted? Isn't becoming Inquisitor-General enough to prove that he is better than me?"

Warm, naïve and courageous Wesley. If the One Above had sent a Herald, you would have been the most likely candidate. Although your position commanded great respect and power, you never did care about it. It is a thing that never ceases to amaze me. Unlike Galford, it did not go to your head – but it most certainly caused you a headache. I've seen you drunk – and heard you sing. Professional comedians would be hard-pressed to win.

But, as such you were, what you are inside was your own weakness. You could not comprehend the fact that you would be betrayed by your own. Your own gullibility nearly killed you – nearly. You barely escaped the Reaper's scythe by a hair's breadth.

"Rolf is right. We must end this – one way or the other. Tonight, we go to the Golan Heights. Nowhere else or it will be too late to stop Galford's lackeys from claiming the blade. If we don't…Galford will pave the way to the Adversary's victory during the turn of the millennium."

What makes you think that the person who would do so would be Galford? It may well be me. Will you regret the decision of sending me to claim the Sword instead of doing it yourself? Whatever it was that Cameela said to you that led to this decision does not matter. I would have chosen to go.

"No matter how deep in Hell you are, everyone in the Order will come for you. Yes, Lisa included, though she would never admit it. You are worth that much – even if you say otherwise."

Thank you, old friend, for being one of the few people on this Earth to believe in me. I see now. We stand at the opposite end of the spectrum where belief is concerned, but it does not change the fact that we still want to protect others. Even the blood pact I made all those years ago had been to that end.

"If this is the best you can do, I'd better have Ezekiel train you harder!"

The mountain roared again, this time bringing to memory our crossed blades and our grinning faces. My voice, that time full of joy, echoed within my mind, "Do your worst!"

Again the mountain roared, the echo of our blades crashing in a shower of sparks

The 12th step…

"I trust you find this more to your tastes, Reiha-san? Better than those European long swords and rapiers, do you not agree? But first…we'll have to train you to use it."

Blue-eyed, cool and calm Aoshi Shinomori. Even now, he and Tsubaki were fighting off the traitors that Galford had sent and were preparing for the onslaught of the traitors and zealots that had descended upon the ruins of the National Geographic Expedition like a tsunami. I could almost picture the icy refrain in his expression as he cut through them with his twin katanas like a winter storm.

"A man with courage knows what is right – and can choose that choice even if the rest are against him."

Aoshi was the master of the nittoryu fighting technique – the Japanese sword-art of using two swords in combat. In close combat, he was a veritable storm of blades capable of reducing a full-grown man – or Kindred - to sashimi in mere seconds. Of all of us, the japanese sword-master was, thankfully, the hardest to anger – and few things could move the ice-man to fury. He was the one that taught me to harness my Beast and bring to bear the strength and precision its fire could bring. Things only a master twice his age should know. And he was only 26, a year my senior.

"A star-filled night. The warmth of the autumn season. To celebrate a day that went well – all of these reasons is good for sake. Don't try to say no – it's rude to refuse in my homeland. And, after that debacle, I think you need a drink."

Forget about getting Aoshi to surrender. The only way you would make him break an oath was if you sent him into his grave. And doing that was even harder. Tsubaki and Hayami did not call Aoshi 'kuro-aisu' for nothing – the man had ice-water for blood. He was hardly ever terrified. That perpetual emotionless look was there regardless of whether he faced an angry ghost or a furious daemon prince.

"Should you know that you are going to die, ensure that your enemy knows that he will share in the cost of paying the ferryman to take you to Hell."

The 13th step…It is all about to come full circle now.

Tsubaki's face entered my mind, then. Her stern, beautiful face framed by her long silver hair and starlight eyes made her stand out in any crowd. Tsubaki Katsuragi was a traditional Japanese shrine-girl and even when she came to the Vatican, she did not abandon the traditional garments of her homeland. Many were the censorious looks that were cast her way and many were those that called her 'infidel'. No one, however, dared to say those words in Tsubaki's face – and for good reason. Tsubaki unarmed was just as deadly as when she was.

I remembered her smile when we first met. The slender hand that had gripped mine was both callused and firm. That smile had held the hint of a challenge that will not be refused. If Ezekiel had been a hard taskmaster for me, Tsubaki was far worse. I remembered her starlight-colored eyes flashing like her katana and her teeth glinting like pearls as she swooped in like an avenging spirit.

I smiled at that sweet memory

"One day, I would like you to come to my country. We can refine your skills there – and my family have expressed interest in wanting to meet you.".

Of all the Paladins and Inquisitors in the Vatican, she was the only one who showed me the way out. What I will do now is going to be poor thanks in repayment for her faith in me. She knows what must be done and the burden that is to be laid upon my shoulders. I've met few women who were as firm of heart and soul as Tsubaki but I knew she was crying inside.

"We can never escape destiny. If it is written in the stars and upon the wind, nothing save an act of God can change that."

I took that final step…

"You can make your own destiny, my beloved Angel of Silence. You can stride on your own two feet and choose with your eyes wide open. I am glad I have strode with you – even if it is but for a moment. Cameela was right about one thing…"

…And raised my bloodied hand to the Dawn Breaker, stopping mere inches from gripping the hilt. Crimson rivulets streamed down the length of the blade. Would I meet the same fate as Aziel? Or was there a worse fate in store for me? I do not deny the fact that terror now gripped me. I am afraid. Only a madman wouldn't be. The moment I take hold of that blade, all the dreams I have sweated and bled to build will crumble again.

"…Like freedom, the price of redemption is high. Tonight is the night you pay for walking back into the Light."

"What is at the end of the sky?" Wesley.

"To live is to learn. No man is without his flaws. No man is without his strengths. As we live, so do we learn to accept the former while strengthening the later." Hayami.

"Blood can always be washed away." Lisa.

"You have a redeeming quality that may yet see you forgiven. You want to be forgiven, don't you?" Huimin Chen.

My fingers came closer and my eyes closed.

"As long as you live, there's always a good chance something good will happen." Randall Masters.

"We can build a future where our children will be blessed beneath God's eye. That blessing is our own to make." Silvana.

"To not know fear is foolishness. To act despite your fear is courage." Aoshi.

"Do not die for nothing, man. The Big Guy Upstairs will be givin' ya the eye." Raphael.

Almost…

"Dark power invested in a man does not necessarily make him evil. You are living proof of that." Cameela.

"I am willing to be your shield, Shateiel, and give power to you, the blade. If you ask me to die for you, you have but to ask." Tsubaki.

My eyes flashed open as the image of Tsubaki lying on the cold stone floor of the upper levels of the Black Cathedral, her lean body bloodied, her robes rent and torn, her eyes lifeless. Tears spilt from my eyes. Yes, there are worse fates. Damnation is a fate far more bearable.

My hands closed upon the Dawn Breaker.

The chains that bound it loosened and lashed back before splashing into the sea of lava. As I removed the broken Sword of Lucifer from its prison, the mountain shook with a force approaching an earthquake. It seemed, in that moment, that the whole world did as well, as though screaming in outrage at the sacrilege I have committed.

The gears have started turning. Now, we play the endgame.

For good or for evil.

Amen.


	3. The New Transfer Students

_**Part 1: Early dawn**_

_**Chapter 1: The new transfer students**_

_**Kyoto City, Japan, Monday, 6th September 1999, 0530 hrs**_

A young boy wearing a gi and hakama stood alone in the garden, gazing into the pond where the carp swam leisurely through its glistening waters. The garden was beautiful and peaceful, warm and cool at the same breath and the scent of the sakura trees that adorned it was comforting. The birds that were perched upon the branches of the trees twittered, ruffling their feathers, as was their way of greeting the new dawn.

The boy knelt, running his hand through the cold water, letting the carp nibble his small fingers playfully. He smiled. It was something his father loved to do whenever he paid a visit to the Mikage Family House. The boy could still see the silhouette of his father beneath the sakura trees, enjoying the sight of the petals drifting in the wind and the sun shining through its leaves.

Beneath those trees, his father would tell stories both to him and his cousins, his strong, calm voice warm and conveying the emotion within his tales. His father's voice echoed in the corridors of the young boy's memories, bringing with it an aegis that could not be broken.

The boy removed his hand from the pool…and gazed at his reflection. Brown hair dominated a young face heavy with sorrow and confusion. Blue-grey eyes, the only evidence of a foreign heritage, was set in a face more Japanese than not. As his aunt had loved telling him, his mother's Japanese blood had overwhelmed his father's, but that his father's spirit was clearly the dominant one within his son. It did not help matters that blood and spirit often clashed within him.

He wondered why his parents never brought him to the Head House more often before, but now he knew the reason why. The boy heard footsteps behind him and turned…

…And Makoto woke up as he felt someone approach him. His dream-self returned to the real world in the space of one heartbeat. As it was with such journeys, the return trip was one that was disorienting in the extreme. Makoto felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull; the cacophony in his brain would have deafened a nuclear explosion.

Damn it…Sensei Aoshi could hit hard even when he promised not to! That teaches him a lesson for taking things at face value. When would he ever learn? The sensei made that promise not to hit his students too hard each time before he started his lessons. And each time, Makoto would leave the dojo bruised and battered. The long-awaited day when the Mikage family would have the chance to piss on his grave would not be long in the coming if this went on.

"Damn it, sensei…that hurt…" and Makoto turned to face the person who was hovering over him. There were only two people living in the residential wing of the traditional restaurant, namely him and his aunt. The latter of was doing an impressive impersonation of a vengeful ghost. Hair cascading down around her, her eyes wild and fierce, blazing in the darkness. Lips curled back in an angry snarl, revealing sharp fangs thirsting for his blood.

If it was meant to wake him up…it worked with spectacular results.

Makoto gave vent to a frightened shriek that would have woken up the entire neighbourhood, had it not been for the specially-constructed sound-proof walls that his aunt had had requested during the restaurant's construction almost 8 years ago. His aunt immediately withdrew and switched on the bedside lamp, illuminating her beautiful features. Long, copper hair framed a face that was both charming and cute despite the fact that his aunt was 30 years old, giving her the physical outlook of a 16-year old high school student. As a result, there have been many incidents when the restaurant's patrons mistook the owner for one of its workers.

He also knew from first-hand experience that his aunt's schoolgirl appearance hid a woman of immense fortitude. Saya Mikage was not someone who surrenders easily. Her fiery green eyes radiated with the strength and determination that had made Tsuki one of the top 20 restaurants in the prefecture. Traditional restaurants faced stiff competition from the more modern restaurants, and to be able to match the high standards of the latter was a source of pride to them.

Her stubborn nature endeared her to her staff and to her customers alike, and had earned her the nickname of 'Shogun Saya'. It was a private joke that was shared by many, but one never spoken in her hearing. Nobody wanted to be on the receiving end of Saya Mikage's infamous temper. The bookstore owner who frequented Tsuki almost weekly with his family had once commented to Makoto that the nickname given to his aunt was fitting.

Had his aunt actually been the Tokugawa Shogun – or his advisor – the history of Japan would have been completely different. The Meiji Restoration would have crashed in dismal failure and Commodore Perry would have found a united Japan waiting to beat the living daylights out of him – after they got what they wanted.

Makoto could not help but agree. He had seen his aunt in action to know that if she would have been a formidable military commander. After all, military leaders have been known to stealthily sneak up on their subordinates at the most awkward times.

"By Kami-sama, Saya oba-san, what are you trying to do? Kill me?" Makoto panted, his eyes twitching as he glared at his aunt furiously.

Saya Mikage met her nephew's gray eyes with amusement, "I'm trying to. Unfortunately, I don't seem to be succeeding. You just refuse to die. A good thing, too. Finding a replacement for you would prove a chore."

Makoto scowled before glancing at the clock next to the bedside lamp, "Saya oba-san, it's only 5.30 in the morning. Why do you need me up so early?"

"I need some help to prepare the restaurant for today. Everyone was tired when the party that the principal from Kirameki High School threw to welcome the newest members of his staff ended so late. I've given everyone the morning off."

Makoto scratched his head, looking blearily at his aunt, "And now I'm the only one available, ne?"

"Yes."

Makoto grumbled several choice curses beneath his breath, his steel-grey eyes meeting his aunt's green ones. He wanted to refuse, especially after yesterday night's Kendo training. Sensei Aoshi was known to be a strict teacher. His training regimes bordered on murderous and only the most dedicated graced the halls of his dojo. Even though the number of students in the dojo's ranks were few, the Shinomori Dojo was one of the nation's best, having won many awards in national and international tournaments ever since its founding. Even the older dojos gave the Shinomori Dojo a measure of respect.

"Give me 10 minutes, Saya oba-san, and I'll come down to help," Makoto said, "Please…"

"10 minutes," his aunt nodded before departing, leaving Makoto to awaken the last few brain-cells that were still in torpor. It was so tempting for the young man to crash back onto the bed and sleep another hour, but he knew what would happen if he did. He was still tired and sore from yesterday's training regime – and he didn't want to be put through another one early in the morning.

The summer holidays had ended yesterday, and today was the first day of a new semester. While most would enjoy the summer holidays, Makoto did not count himself among their number. Aoshi-sensei had murdered everyone in the Shinomori Dojo – both in Kyoto and all the 7 branches stationed throughout Japan.

Throw into the mix the murderous amount of holiday homework and extra classes, and Makoto wondered how it is that he managed to remain sane. Besides, if he had returned to school without finishing the ton of work that the teachers had given him prior to the summer holidays, they would proceed – gleefully – to crucify him. Had his friends not given him a hand, he would have floundered halfway through.

The one bright spot to an otherwise dismal affair was that the extra classes had given him an edge. He was confident of being able to tackle exams now, to say nothing of his adversaries waiting to challenge him at the forthcoming National Kendo Tournament being held somewhere late next month. The still-aching bruises earned during the long hours of training told Makoto of the mistakes he had made and had best not repeat during the Tournament.

He got up and stretched, wincing as he felt his muscles protest, before heading for the bathroom. Usually, the gates of Kyoto High would be opened by 7.30, but he had always reached the school early, and almost always at the same time when the school's caretaker, Hiroshi ji-san, opens it. Makoto had often heard the old caretaker swearing about the 'ghost' that somehow always manages to sneak up behind him despite his best efforts not to be caught off-guard. There were no prizes on guessing who was responsible for the old caretaker sporting more white hairs than he had two years ago.

Ghost, indeed.

Makoto chuckled to himself as he dried his hair. He peered briefly through the parted curtains that afforded him the view of the neighbourhood. Tsuki was located in the quieter outskirts of the metropolis, easily giving his aunt's restaurant and the local area a quiet charm that was a getaway from the bustle of the city. He looked up into the skies, where his aunt's restaurant's namesake hung high in the starlit skies.

It was quiet and peaceful.

Save for the occasional bark of a stray dog and the occasional patrol cars of the district police, the neighbourhood in which he had lived for the past 10 years had yet to rouse from its slumber. He looked at the clock on the wall, and winced. It was 5:45 a.m.

He had taken 15 minutes to get ready.

"Oh no…" Makoto grumbled as he hurriedly threw on his school uniform, grabbed his schoolbag and rushed downstairs.

X X X X X X X 

Several buildings away, a figure stood silhouetted before the moon, gazing down upon the restaurant before her. From inside out, it spoke of an era that was long gone, but lovingly maintained by its owner to bring back past glory. It had taken her some effort to find the place, but she was pleased that her efforts had borne fruit.

Moonlight reflected off long, lustrous hair and cold winds that heralded the impending approach of winter to Japan made the figure's clothes cling to her lush, but athletic figure. The girl's lips pulled into a warm smile and her scarlet eyes blazed with triumph when she caught sight of a young man peering through its curtains.

"I've finally found you, Sword Bearer."

X X X X X X X 

In those rare instances that miracles do happen, most people are thankful that it happened. Makoto was no exception. His aunt did not berate him as she often did whenever he was late, a clear sign that she was clearly exhausted. Hard work and his aunt always went hand in hand. An incurable workaholic, most of Tsuki's staff had gone so far as to comment that Hell would freeze over the day Saya Mikage slacked off. Trying to convince her to stay in bed to rest when she was sick was a nightmare the staff had no choice but to drop onto Makoto's shoulders; he didn't blame them. No one wanted to be fired.

"I'm sorry to have to wake you up so early to help me, Kusakabe-kun," his aunt said as she set another table, "I know that the holidays had been hard, considering the amount of work, kendo classes and training that you have to bear up with."

Makoto headed for another table, "And since you knew that, Saya oba-san, why do you insist on making my life more difficult? I wanted to sleep a little longer."

"Sleeping too much is bad for you. And after all, didn't my act make that the last thing on your mind?"

Makoto developed a nervous tick, "One day, I'll get you for that, old woman!"

Saya pulled one eye and stuck out her tongue, "When Hell freezes over, gaki!"

Her nephew looked up to the ceiling in silent suffering, and Saya felt melancholy strike her. That expression was one she had often seen in her brother-in-law whenever he had to deal with her sister. She remembered the brown-haired gaijin who had come to work under her all those years ago and who had fallen in love with her rebellious and fiery elder sister.

The memory brought tears even as it brought laughter. Saya had never seen Shihana star-struck in all her 25 years of life. The moment when Shigami Reiha – Makoto's father – walked into it, it turned her elder sister's life upside down. And Saya had the front seat for every treasured memory that she now had.

And best of all, Reiha Shigami changed her sister. Saya would never have thought that Shihana would change, but a chance meeting with the proud, yet quiet, gaijin man changed all that. The picture of him, her elder sister, and the all-girl biker gang she once used to lead held a position of pride in her bedroom. It was a reminder to Saya that life was worth living if it was worth fighting for. Every face in that picture smiled now as it did then, with no less passion and life. Many of the girls were fond of Reiha, but her sister had made it clear that she had staked a claim on him. Even so, her late brother-in-law's ability to influence others was clear.

Every biker girl of the Celestial Dragons found a life worth living, and a path worth following. From school dropouts to school standouts. They rode as a team. They went to the working world as one. Even though those days are gone now, each one would look back and smile proudly, and say, "I rode fast, stood high, and believe…then as now, that I can fly. And I did."

**_'A timely question can alter fate,'_** was her late brother-in-law's favourite saying.

How true those words were. If he had not asked her that timely question, Tsuki would have ceased to exist all 4 years ago. All her hard work and effort would have been for nothing.

_**'Giving up in the middle of a fight is the way of cowards and fools who have never thought to question the danger inherent in their journey. You are not the former, and you most certainly done the latter. It never promised to be easy – and you know it. And now, you going to going to roll over like a kicked cur just because your cousin tells you to? Is Saya Mikage a weakling?'**_

That did it.

Those mocking words roused an ire in Saya that would have leveled Mount Fuji and left a crater the size of the Grand Canyon. And years later, she found that she appreciated those words, even though it almost made her blow a blood vessel then and scared the hell out of her employees who knew a fight was in the offing when they saw her face.

Saya turned and watched Makoto work. He was humming a lively tune as he did so. Had it not been for the porcelain bowls and chopstick holders he was carrying with him, he would no doubt be dancing to it. Like father, like son. From hobbies down to work ethics to temperament, the similarities were uncanny. He winced in pain as he stretched out, and a look of fury and panic crossed his features as he glared at his shoulder. The porcelain crockery tottered dangerously in his arms.

"Are you all right?" Saya asked as she quickly approached her nephew, and took the bowls and chopstick holders out of his trembling hands.

"Hai. It's just that my injury still hurts."

"Aoshi?"

Her nephew grinned, "Who else?"

Saya snorted as she stepped behind him, "If you had been that bit faster, you would not have gotten hit. Stand still, baka! Kami-sama knows that Aoshi likes you, but can he try not to kill you before I do? I have more right than that man."

Makoto flinched as his aunt started massaging him, her firm hands easing the ache that had been caused by him straining his muscles. He had attempted to block Aoshi-sensei's counter-strike from an awkward position, and had paid dearly for it. And considering the amount of force that had been behind it, had Makoto not blocked, he would have been severely injured.

When his aunt finished, she rapped him lightly on his head, "When you come back from school today, apply medicated oil to your injuries. Avoid any strenuous activity. Before we turn in for the night, I'll massage you one more time. The ache should be gone in a few more days. In the meantime, try not to put too much strain on your arms and shoulders."

Makoto nodded and proceeded to finish setting up the last few tables when he caught sight of something that made him groan inwardly. On one of the tables were several empty sake bottles, a clear indication what his aunt had been doing the night before, before she turned in. Now he had to scratch 12 bottles off the inventory list; he hoped that there was still enough surplus back in the stores to last the week, because he frankly wanted to avoid telling some of their regular customers that the restaurant's sake had been depleted.

Holding some of the sake bottles firmly between his fingers, he held them up before his aunt with an exasperated expression, "Saya oba-san…"

Saya Mikage's calm façade immediately cracked; the expression on her face was one a canary would have when it discovers that the cat had one paw in the cage. Her nephew's expression was that of the victorious cat waiting to fillet the doomed bird.

"Ara ara…oh dear…"

She was really gonna get it now…

"How many times must I tell you to not to take sake from the stores, Saya oba-san? Kami-sama, twelve bottles? Not even Misato-san can take **_this_** much without fainting – and I know that woman's alcohol tolerance! 12 bottles! That breaks Misato-san's record of 8! And don't try to deny I, 'cause I kept count!"

"Excuse me, but are you comparing me to **_that_** alcoholic hussy?"

Saya's quiet tone of voice was one that spelt impending trouble. Makoto had dealt with that tone to know that the next few words that came out of his mouth would decide if his aunt would be one of the first people to drop the first handful of dirt onto his grave. Logic would tell most people to avoid answering, or at least say no. Unfortunately, for Makoto's case, using any sort of logic would only infuriate his hot-tempered aunt even more.

Not that it worked the last time. How could he have known her pet cat was sleeping in the damn laundry basket? It was too late to save the poor feline. By the end of the spin and dry cycle, one very clean – but very dead – cat popped out of the washing machine.

There had been hell to pay in the aftermath of that incident. Aunt Saya had not been happy – period.

"Misato-san has Shinji to watch over her."

"The day I have a boy half my age watch over me is the day I know I'm about to meet my Maker."

"Better mark that day on your calendar, then, Saya oba-san. I think that day is just around the corner."

Saya wouldn't have been surprised if smoke had started pouring out of her ears. Of all the people on Earth, only her nephew knew how to push the right buttons to make her go ballistic. And he did it so damn easily, and with infuriating ease! Like father, like son!

"Do you want to die, Makoto?" she asked in a perfectly calm tone of voice.

"Yes. But, please remember that I can scream loud enough to have the police on this place in a matter of minutes."

She twitched, "Are you enjoying this?"

"In a way. Was that you singing yesterday night? What are you trying to do? Scare the ghosts away?"

"Makoto…don't make me make you one."

"As if I didn't have to live with one!" the young man chuckled, and slapped a playful hand on his aunt's shoulder, "I know it has been hard yesterday, so I'll let you off this once. And considering that you are still able to walk, you must have shared the sake. Otherwise, you'd still be out cold." _'And I would be able to sleep a little bit longer.' _

"And if you were," he added, "that would mean I would have to set the tables, prepare the food, instruct the staff, and be late for school. And then, I'll end up being waylaid and murdered by Yuko-sensei. You know that that crazy woman hates me for some reason."

Saya calmed down. She had met Yuko Sanyo before. At 24 years old, the pretty but stern, azure-haired and green-eyed PE teacher was 6 years Saya's junior. In some ways, she and Saya shared some common traits such as their devotion to duty and their stubborn, feisty natures. But, that was where the similarities ended. Yuko-sensei was a fiercely conservative woman who held a low view of those who do not prescribe to traditional values.

Makoto had gotten into her bad books within 3 months of him transferring from Shokan High for being late for school over a year ago. He had been preparing the restaurant for a new day, as she had been terribly sick. He had tried to explain, but Yuko-sensei had not been in the mood to listen. Ever since that day, Makoto had made it a point to avoid the strict, azure-haired teacher whenever possible.

He did not need to learn the meaning of humiliation. He already had plenty of practice.

X X X X X X X 

Elsewhere, a golden-haired girl was roused from her slumber by a soft echo that she had known since the dawn of time. It was an echo of something ominous, like an ancient heartbeat. She looked up into the starlit skies, the moon reflected in her azure eyes. They widened when they caught sight of something being reflected upon its pure white, pristine surface. It couldn't be!

She rose from her bed, and walked towards the centre of her apartment she had acquired several weeks before. Letting her nightgown slip from her shoulders, she stood naked beneath the moonlight, her hands clasped together as if in prayer before she spread them wide as though to embrace the sky. The shadow that she cast upon the floor changed in shape and grew in size. Azure eyes burned fierily as the girl searched for the one she – and so many others – have been looking for ever since the celestial phenomena known as the Eye of God blazed in the night sky 10 years ago.

She saw him through the eyes of an owl perched on a tree outside the restaurant where he was, and whispered softly, "I am coming, my Bearer. Wait for me."

X X X X X X X

It took both Makoto and his aunt an additional 20 minutes to finish setting up the restaurant, by which time, the sun had already begun to illuminate the skies, painting it a beautiful shade of scarlet and amber. Makoto got ready to leave for school, and picked up his schoolbag from where he had left it. His aunt gave him his bento box, mussed up his hair and gave his ribs a sharp jab before sending him on his way.

"Yo, Makoto-kun, leaving for school? Is your aunt abusing you again? "

Makoto and his aunt turned to see a familiar man with dark purple hair and dressed smartly in a trenchcoat over a polo shirt and black trousers. The steady tread of combat boots echoed quietly in the early morning. Beneath the man's arm was a motorcycle helmet, and hanging from his mouth was his trademark sunglasses. Both Saya and Makoto recognised the man immediately.

It was Asamu Yuki, one of the – better, in Makoto's eyes – head bodyguards of the Mikage Family, and brother to Megumi Yuki, the school nurse of Kyoto High. Both of the Yuki siblings are related to the Mikage family through their mother, and who, like Makoto, had reasons to dislike the clannish Mikage Family. Asamu was an ex-US marine, and had fought in several of the world's hot spots before he eventually returned to Japan. Makoto knew Asamu when he had been a young boy, and had looked up to him as an elder brother. He was also one of the few friends Makoto had within the ranks of the Mikage family.

"Can't you tell?" Makoto grinned as his aunt whacked him with a halisen that she pulled out of nowhere. Asamu flinched, but the amused smile did not leave his face.

"Ohayo, Asamu-san," Saya greeted with a bow, "You're early today."

"I have no choice. Sakiko is having a meeting with an important delegate from another firm later, and the family wants me to protect her. She trod on some peoples' toes previously, and they were not happy. My team has been called on baby-sit that bitch," Asamu grumbled, "Good god, that woman stomps on the Devil's tail and proceeds to set me up to take the heat."

"The regular?"

"Yes. I hope you don't mind if I ask for extra coffee. I drank a little bit too much yesterday night."

Makoto and his aunt exchanged looks. Like Misato, Asamu suffered from nightmares that had forced them both to turn to drinking in order to lessen the horrors that they had borne witness to. But while Misato had Shinji to help bear the burden, Asamu was a man on his own, and the latter was not about to let anyone carry his burdens for him.

"Sure thing," Saya asked, "Extra strong?"

"The stronger, the better. If Sakiko sees me like this, she'll not be happy."

Saya snorted, "I'm not surprised. She's never happy when she never gets her way."

Makoto glanced down at his watch and said, "I'd better get going before I miss the 6:30 bus to the train station. Being early for school means I will avoid a second confrontation with Yuko-sensei."

Asamu chuckled, "What's the matter? That Yuko is one hot girl. I can't believe you are unable to take a little rough and tumble. She's got the boobs and the body to die for."

The bodyguard had expected Makoto to flush, or to spit out a retort. What came out however was a cold reply laced with poison.

"Whatever. You can keep whatever sick fantasies you have to yourself, Asamu. I don't want to start something I cannot finish," Makoto snarled, "The sheer sight of that woman in more than enough to make me sick."

Asamu flinched at the venom in the young man's tone, _'I suppose bringing up mention of that hellcat is not something anyone wants to hear first thing in the morning.'_

A glance at Saya told him the same thing. She had the look of one who had swallowed something bitter.

"Sorry," Asamu grinned apologetically.

"No harm done. I'm not so desperate that I'll fall for my own killer."

Asamu almost broke his ribs laughing, "Knowing you, one can never tell. You're always the sort to go for dangerous women. Case in point…" and he jerked a finger in Saya's direction.

Saya sent Asamu ass over teakettle with her halisen.

X X X X X X X 

On the outskirts of Kyoto, in an old hostel, a girl had finished putting on her high school uniform, admiring the sight that she presented. The reflection that gazed back at her revealed a lean, athletic form of a beautiful girl with long silver-amethyst hair held in place by a white hair-band. Crimson eyes stared back at her and her proud posture and expression conveyed an air of confidence and mockery.

She sensed another presence in the room, and glanced over her shoulder. Her crimson eyes locked onto another on the mirror. A tall, suave, well-built man with long, snow-blonde hair clad in a business suit leaned against the wall, looking at her admiringly.

The girl nodded in greeting, "Areil. I take it that all is in order?"

"It is as you have asked, sister. There is something, however, that I must inform you off. **_They're_** here."

The girl's scarlet eyes narrowed, "Are you sure?"

"Very."

"How many of them are there? "

"I don't know. Until I gather more information, I ask that you try not to do anything that will put the Masquerade in jeopardy. Yes, even when you do encounter them face-to-face. Do I make myself clear, sister?"

"Crystal."

"Good," Areil smiled slyly before adding, "But if you are ever found out by any mortal, do try to be thorough."

The girl chuckled, "I will."

"There is also one more thing I think you'd best know. The Wanderer, Harafel, lives within this city. I don't need to tell you where this conversation will lead, as I have no intention of insulting your intelligence," the smile on Areil's face fading away.

"But will she –," the girl asked.

"I don't think she will, but it is a good idea to take some precautions," and Areil handed the girl a small vial, "If she does attack, get as far away as possible and use this. It will ensure that you can escape without her following you. You know the breath of her powers are sufficient to ensure your Final Death."

"Understood. Areil…I have a question."

"Is it about the Inquisition?"

"Yes."

"They have yet to act, but my sources inform me that they are already scrambling to find the Promised One. Our allies have laid out a false trail to throw them off. By the time they realise that they have been barking up the wrong tree, it will be far, far too late. The only one that may actually be a threat is that Cardinal. He may well enter the fray, and of all of the Church, he's the one with the most knowledge. He stands on a knife's edge. To tell his superiors what he knows may unravel the lie that the survivors of the St. Michael exorcists have fabricated and lay the mantle of a traitor on his shoulders. There is a high chance that he and his will act independently of Rome's jurisdiction. Regardless, our servants within the Church will ensure that Cardinal Wesley does not pose too much of a threat."

"Don't underestimate this one, Areil. He defeated our master over 20 years ago, and threw a possibility of defeat in the coming Judgement. If he does manage to intervene in time…"

"True as that may be, we cannot afford to fail at this juncture. The master will not be pleased if we fail."

The girl sniffed in contempt, "Whether they are pleased or not does not concern me. I know where my priorities lie," before she strode to the door, pausing briefly to pick up her schoolbag.

She strode down the steps of the old hostel that acted as her haven and out into the open sun. It had been bothersome to find proper lodgings on such short notice, but she had had no choice. Her superiors had dropped the mission on her lap at the last minute, something that she was not exactly happy about. When she was told the details, however, the annoyance she felt swiftly faded away, replaced by a yearning hunger that she had not felt for a long, long time.

She had surrendered her previous assignment to another without hesitation.

12 souls for this 1 **_particular_** soul had been well worth the exchange.

The image of a man clad in torn robes adorned with crosses, holding an enormous, yet broken, sword, changed to that of a young high school student with the same steel-grey eyes. In the boy's slender, but firm, arms rested the same black-bladed sword. Lonely eyes gazed upon a starlit heaven, searching for a dream that was no longer there.

Like father, like son.

Both broken.

Both abandoned.

Both betrayed.

The girl shaded her eyes as she looked past the foliage into the sun, "I came here, brother, to claim what is mine."

X X X X X X X 

It had taken her half an hour before to get to school. From the first moment she first arrived in Japan, the girl knew that she was alone on this dangerous mission. There was no one to help her should she encounter the opposition. The only source of – possible – help came in the form of the Wanderer, Harafel. And whether the Wanderer would help her or remain neutral in the coming days was open to debate.

With what was to come, however, the second option may well become impossible. The golden-haired girl dared not even think of the possible third option of the Wanderer joining her adversaries. The consequences of that happening were disastrous. She knew the Wanderer better than most others, and knew that her reasons for her self-imposed exile were justifiable. She did not condemn her decision, understanding the pain and bitterness that had led to it.

There had been no point in her staying.

And for years, the Wanderer traveled the known world and had recently only settled down in Japan. She had been here for at least, to the girl's estimate, 40 years ever since the end of the 2nd World War, altering her identity and using her Disciplines in order to continue living there. And Harafel had enough power to ensure that she could play havoc with the memory of a large number of people.

Those mental Disciplines, used wisely, could effectively erase – or alter – parts of an individual's memory. Used maliciously, and they could effectively change a normal person to a sociopath. It had been done so many times that the girl had lost count, and each time it had been so, the consequences had been disastrous.

The whisper of one such voice had seen to the fall of the Aztec Empire when a half-sleeping helmsman guided the Spanish fleet's main flagships to South America. Within the space of two years, an empire that had lasted for over 500 years collapsed. Within a generation, even the Incas followed the Aztecs into the ashes of history.

The echo of that same voice had kindled the furious, undying hatred between the Christian Kingdoms and the Muslim Empires in Europe, which eventually exploded into the conflagration that was the Crusades. It was a hate that had yet to die, and bore bloody scars that had yet to heal.

A few words kindling rage and patriotism, an assassination of the Archduke of Austria-Hungary, and the 1st World War erupted. A nation shamed and defeated in that war, an insidiously asked question to a man who would become the leader of Nazi Germany, and with its rise came the scourging fires of the 2nd World War and hate of the genocidal Holocaust.

The mere thought of the amount of blood spilt, of those that had died innocent, of the nations razed, was staggering. The Curse that had been spat upon the entire race of Man at the dawn of Creation echoed through the ages. A Curse so potent that it saw the courtesy of the Angel War reduced to the bloody one that was recorded in the Bible, and which the ten thousand wars which plagued Mankind's history an echo of that embittered struggle. The reasons behind it were beyond counting. Hate, revenge, justice, jealousy were among the many chief reasons.

But jealousy had always been the main cause of such bitterness, because it always festered, becoming hate.

Late September 1972, that festering jealousy led to the one event that was the opening moves to the endgame. It was a day when a good man fell from grace. Jealousy had led him to betray a man who was both his friend and rival to the many enemies of the Church. Cardinal Galford Christchurch had waited half a decade before he played his hand; a chance delivered to him on a silver platter when the Watchers – a sub-section of the Inquisition – reported that the legendary Black Cathedral of Lucifer had been uncovered.

He sent the 15-member elite St. Michael exorcist team to the Middle East to claim the Dawn Breaker, the broken sword of the Adversary, that laid sealed within the Morningstar's shattered fortress. He did not, however, deign to tell his superiors that a team had been sent, paving the way for a betrayal of monumental proportions. The St. Michael's captain never knew what hit him until one of his compatriots perished, and revealed to him in the process, that they had been betrayed.

The St. Michael paladins did not falter, and fulfilled their mission. It had cost them dearly. 11 out of its 15 members perished when their ordeal was over. The remaining 4 survivors made a pact; for them to survive, they had to sell out one of their own in order for the rest to live. Beneath the dawn-kissed sky of the Holy Land and before the eyes of God and the Adversary, one chose to walk into Darkness willingly so as to spare the others. The remaining 3 returned to the Vatican with a lie penned in blood and tears and whispered in tragedy. When all was said and done, only the Captain of the St. Michael Paladins elected to remain within the ranks of the Church.

It was ironic. The person who was to blame for the betrayal was the one was the one lauded as a hero, while the one who was reviled as a traitor was the one who made a hero's sacrifice. Even though the hunt for the traitor should have ended with the Fallen Paladin's death, it was becoming increasingly obvious that they had extended his sin to his only son; and that for the sin of existence. The act was nothing short of spiteful. But, even so, Rome was determined to find the Sword Bearer before the servants of the Adversary in order to deny the latter from acquiring a foothold on Earth.

It was what they would do to him that worried her. There were 2 factions within Rome. The Pope led one faction while the Inner Circle led the other. Those who followed the Pope advocated that the Sword Bearer should be protected, regardless of the fact that his father was the greatest traitor to the Light ever since the War in Heaven. The other faction demanded his death, believing that it was the only way that they could thwart the designs of God's Enemy.

While the Inner Circle dared not go up against the Pope directly, they would well take independent action for what they believed was for the good of all. But do they know what the Sword Bearer was like? What he had gone through?

She had watched him sleep, tasted and felt his breath as he did so. His past was written on his body, and her fingers had traced each word that told a painful story. In repose, unaware she was next to him, she could sense the pain and the yearning for acceptance in his soul. And in its pristine fire, she felt the corruption of the Taint. The fierce, black power was dormant, waiting only to be unleashed. There was that frightening possibility of it devouring him and making him an empty shell, susceptible to possession. And she would not let him go without a fight. Not when there was a chance for him to make everything right.

The girl sighed softly and stepped out into the open, unaware of the awed gazes that followed her. Men and women alike stood in stunned silence as she strode past, and the sakura petals that floated down on the wind gave the golden-haired, blue-eyed gaijin the vision of a goddess incarnate. Smiling at the warm sensation of the sun and the coolness of the wind on her, the girl strode towards Kyoto High.

X X X X X X X 

Makoto was earlier than most, and had the opportunity to buy breakfast from the canteen the moment the lunch ladies had raised the shutters. They had been expecting him, and had put aside his regular orders. One of them had commented that the old school caretaker had come by earlier, cursing about the 'Ghost of Kyoto High' that had taken several years off of his already short life. Makoto could only grin sheepishly. He always caught Hiroshi ji-san unawares, and even the most polite greeting sent the man off the ground.

He munched on the curry bun as he watched students file into the school. Although lessons started at 9, most of the students in Kyoto High made it a point to get in before the set time. The reason why was due to a slender, blue-haired teacher standing at the gates. Even from where he was, Makoto could see the stern expression of Yuko-sensei.

Nobody was crazy enough to get on the bad side of the strict PE teacher, and even the school's black sheep dreaded facing her. Yuko-sensei had a black belt in Aikido and was also proficient in Muay Thai. Facing her often resulted in an extended leave of absence for an overabundance of bruises and bone dislocations. Makoto had the misfortune of finding that out the hard way. In addition to that leave of absence, he had earned himself a spot in her bad books for putting a bruise on her head. All in the space of one encounter, he became an instant celebrity in the school. No one had dared to stand up against Yuko-sensei in such a fashion, and Makoto could clearly remember the white-hot loathing that rose up to crush his self-control in an instant.

"Yo, Makoto. Morning," spoke a voice behind him.

Makoto turned to see Shinichi Mikage, his cousin, behind him.

"Morning, Shinichi, how…" and he winced the moment his cousin came closer, "Don't tell me you stayed up late to watch that movie."

"I did."

"I told you not to tell me. I already know. You look like a panda bear and the way you walk reminds me of Misato on an alcohol overdose."

"I know. I promise I won't faint in the middle of class. I do not want an encounter with Yuko-sensei akin to the one you had when you first came to Kyoto High. I am not so crazy as to spend 5 minutes alone in the same room with that tigress. She's as cruel as Aoshi-sensei."

Makoto raised an eyebrow, "Tell that to aches and pains, Shinichi. They do not agree with you. Aoshi-sensei is hell-bent on making sure we beat the living hell out of the opposition in the National Tournament next month. The way he's going, he's going to be needing to arrange funerals before we even set foot in Tokyo."

"That bad?"

"You cannot even begin to imagine," Makoto groaned as he slumped over the table, "I **_still_** feel tired."

His cousin patted him on the back, "And you come back to this."

"As if I don't know what I'm in for," Makoto said, "Exams, projects, remedial classes, and Kami-sama knows what else. Do you want me to add more to the list? We're going to be busier in this semester than we will ever be for the previous three!"

"There's no denying that," Shinichi replied, running a hand through his hair, "But, hey, did you hear the latest rumours that were going around?"

"What rumours? I was too busy crashing out to care."

"In that case, I'll fill you in," Shinichi smiled impishly, "When I met Yuki-sensei this morning…stop laughing, damn it…she told me that there were two new transfer students – both girls – coming in today. They were scheduled to have a medical check-up before they are assigned to their classes."

That bit of information made Makoto sit up, "This late? It's almost the end of the year! Which school did they come from? Shokan?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Makoto, but they're not from any local high school. At least, not those from Japan," Shinichi grinned, seeing the realisation dawn in Makoto's eyes, "Both girls are from overseas."

X X X X X X X 

Somewhere in Kyoto's red-light district, a young man was about to meet his end.

Konda Todo fancied himself a tough guy. With his imposing 1.74m height and his lean, well-built form, he looked the part. Piercing green eyes and long, shoulder-length dark blue hair reinforced the intimidating image he projected. Konda was not a guy easily frightened. That was why he was part of the Black Suns biker gang.

He had fought in gang wars, rubbed shoulders with the professionals, and had done things that made even his fellow Black Suns nervous. But, the one thing that had allowed him to do all these things and get away without ever getting implicated was because he was smart. Unfortunately, this was one of those days he realised that he had done something extremely stupid.

And now, he was going to pay for it.

The moment he had caught sight of that beautiful, amethyst-silver haired high school gaijin girl striding down the sidewalk, Konda had become almost immediately aroused. He had stayed out late in the club with some of his friends to down a drink and pick up some girls. His luck had been good, and he had managed to pick up two of the hostesses. But, pretty though they were, and good as they were in bed, this gaijin girl promised to be different

The girl radiated an air of arrogant confidence and erotic sexuality that had set his blood on fire. Oh, this one would scream when he mounted up. Gaijin girls were known to be extremely passionate, and from the looks of this one, this one was no exception.

Leaving his bike where it was, he had tailed her, following her into an alleyway. No doubt she was taking a shortcut in order to get to school faster. Before he realised what had happened, Konda had found himself looking into an imposing wall. A dead end surrounded by high-rise buildings, with the only way out being blocked by the girl he had been tailing. Up close, Konda could see that the gaijin girl was stunningly beautiful. There was no question that she would be a knockout somewhere in the not-so-distant future. And he intended to be the one to make her a woman.

There was no one around to witness what he planned to carry out. This would most certainly save him time and money. He drew two combat knives, a lecherous grin on his face, and the thrill of imminent pleasure making him impatient. He expected to see fear. He expected to see shock. He expected to see the realisation in the girl's eyes of what he was planning to do to her.

He had NOT expected the gaijin to smile.

She raised her head to look at him, and what Konda saw in the girl's blood-scarlet eyes made his blood freeze and his libido to turn to terror. The instincts that had served him so well over his 6 years as a gangster told him that he was way in over his head. He had seen eyes like that before – and only upon the underworld's most ruthless assassins and contract killers. Not only that. None of those cold-blooded killers had the smile that this 16-year old gaijin was giving him.

The girl had a predator's smile.

Konda readied his combat knives, the comfortable feeling of his sharpened weapons causing his fear to recede. He returned the girl's smile with one of his own. He wouldn't hurt her…too much. The girl studied his weapons with cool amusement, and a soft, mocking laughter escaped her lips. She finally turned her gaze upon him, and Konda could see that the girl's eyes were the colour of blood.

"You stupid, stupid fool. To think you dare…"

She tossed aside her schoolbag, and strode towards Konda. The gangster's eyes widened in horror as the girl became something both beautiful and terrifying. No one would hear the horrific screams of Konda Todo's final moments in the quiet, morning air.

Nor find his corpse until hours later.

X X X X X X X

"In any case, welcome to Kyoto High," Doctor Yuki Megumi said as she turned towards the occupant in the adjacent chair. The golden-haired, blue-eyed German girl that occupied it smiled pleasantly in reply. She was, Yuki had to admit, a beautiful girl. If the awed stares and slack-jaws were of any indication when Yuki had escorted her to the sick bay, she could almost foresee the stampede as the boys trampled over each other to get to know her.

The purple-haired school doctor found herself warming to the foreign girl the moment she met her, and had engaged in small talk as she performed the tests, asking about her homeland, her previous school life and the reasons why she came to Japan. She had proven to be good company, and Yuki felt herself at ease in her presence.

The school doctor looked at the record spread on her desk. What was written in there impressed her, not to mention that it had left the school principal speechless. The girl was a bona fide genius, and the records practically screamed it. Yuki herself confirmed it. The German fraulein had left the doctor gasping in her efforts to catch up.

Standing up and stretching, she strode towards a portable stove she had set up when she first became the school's doctor, "Now, while we wait for the Class Representative to bring you to your new class, can I offer you a cup of tea and a light breakfast?"

"Thank you, sensei," the girl replied in perfectly accented Japanese, "If it is all right with you, I would also like to know more about the school, its staff, and some of its more…interesting characters. I hope you don't mind my asking."

Yuki laughed. She knew of several and their exploits. Talking about them would most certainly spice up her Monday morning. Pouring a kettle of hot tea into two cups, she replied, "Certainly."

X X X X X X X

Tokiya Marimo was one hassled girl.

She hated mornings.

She hated going to school.

She hated it even more that the vacation had come to an end, and that it was but a prelude for the grand finale: the dreaded E-word – Exams.

But above all, she hated it when the teacher blisters her ears for something that was not even her fault! When exactly did she take over that old bat's responsibility of being the class's form teacher anyway? She was only the class's vice-representative, for God's sake! Visiting the homes of students during the school holidays and ensuring that they were contactable were not part of her responsibilities!

Tokiya growled like an angry dragon, swearing furiously and raining down curses on the old teacher who had so ruined her day before it even began. Her angry façade and her icy golden-brown eyes caused more than one student to jump out of her way, and the teachers that saw her storm pass knew without needing to ask that the vice-class representative of class 2-1 had just gotten a chewing out. A good majority of the teaching staff knew just how irascible Enishi-sensei was. Kami-sama alone knew how many of them had suffered a verbal lashing from the 60-year old teacher.

"Ohayo, Mari-chan."

Tokiya turned around to see a slender girl with waist-length black hair and golden-brown eyes walking next to her. At her glare, the latter jumped back, startled by the fury in the eyes of the former. Tokiya felt her anger recede as the angry haze that fogged her mind dissolved, and recognition dawned in them.

It was Shizuka Hayame, one of Tokiya's best friends and the resident Church girl of Kyoto High. The dark-haired girl had lived and worked in the Church adjoining the school grounds for as long as Tokiya could remember. A quiet yet friendly girl, she was the oldest member in Class 2-5. Having started education 2 years latter, Shizuka was by far the oldest girl in the grade, excepting those that had been retained due to flunking the exams one time too many.

"Ohayo, Hayame-chan," Tokiya greeted her friend.

"What happened? Was it Enishi-sensei?"

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Easy. I heard Enishi-sensei shouting at someone when I passed by the staff room 20 minutes ago. I did not expect that you were the one she was shouting at. What was it all about?"

"You wouldn't believe what that old woman scolded me for," Tokiya huffed, "That old bat should be sent to a psychiatrist before she drives everyone in school crazy! Did you know what she scolded me for?"

Shizuka shook her head.

"Enishi-sensei scolded me for not doing her job! For her! She practically laid it on me for her own incompetence! When did it become the responsibility of the class-rep or the vice-chairman to do house visits and ensuring that the class is kept contactable? Huh? When did she even contact me to inform me to visit that new student? I do not remember her calling me like she claimed she did! That senile old bat should have been retired years ago! Why the School Board hasn't done that yet eludes me! If this goes on, I am so sorely tempted to arrange an accident!"

The older girl winced at the last sentence. Tokiya was as angry as Shizuka had ever seen her, and the latter couldn't blame her. Getting scolded on the first day of school was not anyone's cup of tea. However, one part of Tokiya's rant had caught her attention. There was a new transfer student coming in? Could it be…?

"Oy, Shizuka…you okay?"

Shizuka snapped out of her thoughts, "Huh, what?"

"Are you all right, Shi-chan? You zoned out for a minute there."

"Sorry. What was it you were saying again?"

"I was saying that that new ice cream shop in the Sakura Mall is excellent. If you're free after school, we can head on there for some."

"Well…"

"Oh, come on, Shi-chan. Don't be such a spoilsport. I guarantee that it will be worth it! I'll even try to get Shinichi and Makoto to join us."

"Well, I…"

"Please, Shi-chan…"

Shizuka sighed. There was no stopping Tokiya when she had made up her mind.

"All right, all right. I'll go," and Shizuka smiled slyly, "On one condition."

Tokiya paled. That sly smile on the older girl's face was one rarely seen. It made the younger girl wonder if Shizuka was a nun at all. That smile was the perfect replica of Kagoshima-sensei's fox-smile. Anyone who saw that smile knew what it entailed.

"Yes?"

"You're buying for all of us."

'_I should have expected that…'_ Tokiya moaned inwardly_, 'Trust Shizuka to be cunning at the worst possible time! I'm broke…'_ "Uh…"

"Well…?"

"Uh…"

Shizuka smiled, "I see. You're broke. I'll make it a little easier for you, then. You'll buy for both of us."

Tokiya slumped, defeated, "Hai. But can you…Shi-chan? Shi-chan?"

The older girl was no longer beside her. Tokiya wheeled around to see that Shizuka was standing before the shoji doors leading to the sick bay. There was a look on her face that was both awe and shock, and the way she was transfixed at the sight of the plain shoji doors. But that was not the creepy part. The creepy part was that Shizuka looked as if she could see through it.

Tokiya walked towards her and shook her, "Oy, Shi-chan! Shizuka! Oy! What's wrong?"

A brief look of confusion crossed the older girl's serene façade, "Huh? What did I-? Oh dear, did I…?"

"You spaced out. What happened? You suddenly froze and stared at the doors. What's the matter?"

Shizuka grinned sheepishly, "Sorry. I just remembered that I had an important matter to see to. Tokiya, is it all right with you if we stopped by the Shinomori Dojo on our way to the mall? There is something I need to tell Aoshi-sensei."

"I don't mind," Tokiya shrugged, "The only thing is if Makoto does. Speaking of which…I'd better go see him before class starts. I'll meet you at the rooftop at lunch, okay?"

"Sure."

"Ja ne," Tokiya said and ran off.

Shizuka waved and watched her friend leave before turning her gaze back again on the sick bay's doors.

X X X X X X X

Shinichi had already left Makoto 10 minutes ago when one of his classmates came by and told him that Koya-sensei, the form teacher of Shinichi's class 2-7, wanted to have a word with him. Shinichi's look was one akin to what a canary would have when it realised that the cat had opened its cage and had one paw in it. Makoto could not help grinning. Koya-sensei was, next to Makoto's form teacher, one of the youngest teachers in Kyoto High. Mishima Koya was in her early twenties and like many student teachers her age and looking for a prospective mate, she had her eye on Shinichi, never mind the fact that he was several years younger.

No doubt, he would hear what it was all about at lunchtime.

Makoto sighed. Shinichi had loved his uncle – Makoto's father – back when he was still alive. Reiha Shigami had been a giant in the eyes of his nephews and nieces, his influence difficult to remove. Makoto was no different. In the corridors of his memory, his father stood like a titan, invincible and infallible. Was there a chance to meet him again somewhere, someday?

WHAM!

A hard blow hit the back of Makoto's head, knocking his earphones out, and derailing his line of thought – literally. Grimacing and rubbing the back of his head, Makoto turned a furious glare on the culprit who almost sent his face crashing onto the table. He scowled when he saw the culprit. Next to Yuko-sensei, this was the next person he wished he did not have to see first thing in the morning.

It was Tokiya Marimo, vice-class representative of class 2-1, his childhood friend and self-proclaimed rival. Also known as resident tomboy, teacher's pet/punching bag and loud-mouthed monkey, Makoto added mentally. How was it that he managed to pick up rivals faster than he picked up friends, anyway? It was not a skill anyone sane would go about acquiring, unless the person in question had a death wish.

Makoto was not crazy. It did not help matters that he had dozens of rivals waiting in line, ready to level him with the floor. And the girl standing in front of him was the first in line, provided Kasumi did not knock her back down to second place.

"Oh-ha-yo, Ma-ko-to-chan," Tokiya grinned.

"Damn it, Mari-chan, do you have to hit me that hard?" Makoto grumbled. A grand majority of the girls who stood in said line to trash the daylights out of him for some perceived wrong were all fit, fiery and strong. Tokiya Marimo was no different. She wasn't appointed the captain of the school's Athletics' Team for nothing.

"Did I?"

Any reply Makoto had died in his throat when he saw Class Representative Okita Shirou stride in. He gave a brief nod to Tokiya in greeting, before standing on the upraised platform reserved for the class's teacher. He swept the class with his stern gaze, and his body language indicated that he had something important to impart. The noise level in the class plummeted as conversations were put on hold. Satisfied, the bespectacled class-rep pulled out a notebook before he started addressing the class.

"Before I begin, I would like to welcome everyone back to school. I take it everyone has enjoyed the summer holidays?"

There was an avalanche of 'no's.

Okita raised an eyebrow, "I see. Nevertheless, expect to have more of the same until the exams are over. I'm not joking. Kagoshima-sensei has informed me about the school's plans half an hour ago. We are about to drop straight into enemy territory."

Okita was a military otaku through and through. In regards to anything martial, Okita was an expert. It was unsurprising, considering that both his parents were in the JSSDF. It took a while for the class to catch on with his lingo, and whenever Okita spoke of a drop into enemy territory, they knew they were in for a hard time.

The entire class groaned. Makoto closed his eyes in exasperation – and to avoid seeing Tokiya grin. Saori Kagoshima, the form teacher of class 2-4, like 2-7's Koya-sensei, was one of the youngest teachers in the school. Renowned after her first day in school for a wicked sense of humour, Saori Kagoshima had been given the nickname 'kitsune-onna', which literally meant fox-woman, by the school's shuddering masses.

And, it fitted Saori Kagoshima to a T.

Surprise tests, murderous project deadlines, sudden changes in class timetables were all orchestrated to bring the school's elite to their knees. And no one in the school board could stop her – or wanted to, in any case – and her aunt being the school principal had nothing to do with it. Infuriating Yuko-sensei always had a predictable outcome of a beating; angering Saori-sensei was nothing short of suicidal, because there was no telling WHAT she would do.

Pity the soul that earned her ire, for the poor soul's death would come when he or she least expects it.

Mourn the soul that catches her fancy. Death would have been a mercy.

One of those pitiful souls was named Makoto Kusakabe. And he was her favourite target. There was an invisible tattoo on him that read _'I will make your life a living hell. With love, Kagoshima Saori.'_

"Okita, you're starting to seriously scare me. What is she planning this time?" a student sitting at the second row asked, "Her practical jokes cause us no end of pain. I swear if this goes on, it will drive us crazy long before we even graduate!"

"Drive us crazy?" another answered, "She's already done that! Thanks to her, our summer vacation was utterly ruined."

"We ruined it, Hideo-san. Not the sensei," Okita replied firmly, "Did you see your test results? Do you need a second reminder? You don't. Neither do we. And if we do badly the final exams, then we will have the distinct dishonour of explaining to our parents why we were retained."

"The other classes…"

"Did better than us. Do you want proof? I can get Marimo-san to give us a copy of their class records to prove my point," and nodded towards the said girl who was sitting on Makoto's table. Makoto disliked Okita autocratic stance, but he had to admire the fact that his class rep was made of stern stuff. It was hard to shake the guy. Okita had stared down guys bigger and tougher than him and made them all back down. And most importantly, Okita walked the talk.

"What exactly are her plans, Okita?" one girl asked.

"Remedial lessons," and Okita flipped open his notebook, and turned to the correct page, "A lot of it. Enough to make me want to puke."

The last sentence made everyone blanch. Okita does not swear, period. That was as close as he came to doing so. And that meant trouble with a capital T.

"Is she targeting Makoto again?" one red-haired girl asked before casting a glance at Makoto.

"I wouldn't be surprised!" Tokiya answered, grinning at an annoyed Makoto.

"Don't even think you're safe, baka! Do you remember Shinta-san? Him being in another class did not protect him from that Saori-sensei's plots. Unless you are part of the Imperial Family or not in Kyoto High, then you are fair game," Makoto fired back. Tokiya chuckled. It was clear Makoto had not forgotten the last prank Saori-sensei had played on him.

"Regardless," Okita continued, "I'll be handing out the schedules for the remedial classes at the end of the day. Attendance is compulsory, so don't even think about running away. Now, on to other matters. One, the Autumn Equinox party celebrations: I am to remind those who have been selected to represent this class to attend the meeting this Saturday. Toka-san, as you're also part of the group, you will have to go."

"Eh?"

"Sorry about this, but it was a last minute change. Saori-sensei nominated you to replace me, but she couldn't get you during the holidays to inform you. Why is that?"

Toka played with her ponytail, "Sorry, Okita-kun. My family and I moved out of Kyoto. I'll be updating my particulars with the main office at lunchtime."

"Okay. Two: The National Kendo Tournament. Makoto, Kuro, Hazashi," Okita looked at the three students, "this one is for you three. Hiromaru-sensei is holding a meeting after school hours for the entire school Kendo team. You are to attend."

Makoto, Kuro and Hazashi exchanged brief looks before nodding.

"Three: It's about the latest news. If you've heard about it, ignore me. If you find it to be absolute garbage, do the same. If you want to listen, be my guest. Now, all of you have heard about the rampant Y2K rumours that have been spreading around ever since the year turned, haven't you? Computers crashing, bank accounts razed, and general mass hysteria about civilisation going to the dogs? It is not going to happen. So convince your parents not to do anything stupid like quitting their jobs or emptying their bank accounts.

"Also, you've also heard on the newspapers, the news and the Internet forums about the end of the world. That when the year ends, so does the world? Don't believe everything they tell you. The world is not going to end. Civilisation is not going to collapse. The Mall will still be running, the bullet train will still operating, and the television stations will still be transmitting. The world is not going to end, no matter what some religious groups or experts say. We will celebrate Christmas and the New Year as we had last year. That is…if we make it."

The class laughed.

Makoto however, remained silent and proceeded to replace his earphones. There was no point in him listening to the rest of Okita's speech.

'_As if I'm about to believe what those 'experts' say,'_ he thought sourly, _'I have better things to do with my time than to concern myself with such superstitious rubbish. And what with all the events lined up before the year ends, I'm going to have my hands full. Projects, remedial classes, the National Tournament – Kami-sama knows what else! End of the World? If that happened, at least I won't have to worry about anymore tests of exams – or of facing that old braying ass of a family patriarch!'_

"And lastly, I have some good news," Okita said, and Makoto turned down the volume on his CD player, "We have a new classmate who will be joining us. I want all of you to make sure she is made welcome. She's not from Japan, so I will appreciate it if you help her if she stumbles. All right? Come on in."

The entire class fell silent as a beautiful, golden-haired gaijin girl walked into the class, awed by what they saw. Every boy in the class was mesmerised by the angel that had walked into their quiet, if not hectic, lives. More than one male student would admit, later on, that their hearts had skipped a beat, not in fear, but in awe. The girls, in turn, warmed almost immediately to their class's newest member, seeing in her the elegance and grace that they could attain were they to put their hearts to it. No one felt ever the slightest tinge of jealousy. The girl's presence and warm smile seemed to blast that negative emotion right out the window. Even the stern and straight Okita – though it was clear he had met the girl prior to the official introduction – found himself stuttering.

"Well…ah…I…uh…please introduce yourself to the c-class."

The girl nodded respectfully to Okita before bowing towards the class in greeting, "Ohayo gozaimasu, minna-san. My name is Sophia Randolph. How do you do?"

Her eyes met each and every student in the classroom, lingering the longest on Makoto, holding his grey eyes with hers. Her warm smile, if anything, grew warmer. Makoto found himself paralysed and his mind unable to function properly. If the normally composed Okita had been left speechless when he had met Sophia, Makoto was willing to forgive him this once.

He had seen those eyes somewhere before… 

"Makoto? Hey, Makoto…" spoke an unfamiliar voice.

Makoto turned, almost dazed, to face the almost unfamiliar features of Tokiya Marimo. It took a while before he could actually recognise her. And when he did, Makoto realised that he had been staring at her long enough that she was blushing.

"Ah? Eh? Yes, what is it?"

Tokiya recovered quickly, "What's the matter with you? I was talking to you about the lunch meeting with Shinichi and you zoned out the minute you see that gaijin girl. You're acting as if you haven't seen one before!"

"Please, be quiet, Tokiya."

Tokiya reddened, "Don't tell me to be quiet, Makoto!"

"Or do you want Okita to chase you out?"

"Hmmph!"

Okita continued, unaware or ignoring the argument between Makoto and Tokiya, "Sophia-san has come to our school to study as part of a school exchange program. She had been selected for it, partly due to the reason that her parents have come to Japan to work. If it is all right, Sophia-san, please tell us a bit more about yourself."

The girl smiled, "Certainly. Before I was selected for the Student Exchange Program, I was studying humanities and arts in a College in Berlin, Germany. I have read and learnt much about the history and culture of Japan, and look forward to seeing it in person. Though I have learnt much, I believe that it is better to be here in person to experience and actually see it in order to appreciate it. If you wish, I can share what I have learnt about the traditions and cultures of other countries."

Makoto nodded in approval. Tokiya and Okita looked impressed.

"Well," Okita asked, pushing up his spectacles, "does anyone have any questions to ask?"

"What are your hobbies?" Tokiya asked, breaking the miasma of awe that had gripped every soul in the classroom. Okita's stern gaze ensured that none of the class's more boisterous characters spoke out of turn.

"Drawing, reading and writing."

"What kind of sports do you do?" one female student asked.

"Archery, swimming and running."

Upon hearing those words, Makoto could not help but look at Sophia's lean, but lush, figure. He saw her looking at him, her blue eyes amused and warm. He blushed. Tokiya, on the other hand, had an interested look. No doubt she would try to convince Sophia to join the Athletics Team later on.

"What kind of books do you read?" this one coming from a female Library Club member.

"Many kinds."

"What kind do you like?" this one coming from her male counterpart.

"Let me see…historical novels are my favourites. I also do read romance, thriller and horror novels from time to time. Though in the last category, there has been one story that has caught my attention. What was it…? Ah yes. The title was 'Circle of the Fallen' by Reiha Shigami. It's a trilogy, but the 3rd book has yet to be released."

Time froze.

Heads turned towards Makoto.

Makoto became a statue.

Okita chuckled.

Sophia smiled.

And Tokiya betrayed him, "Well, if you're looking for the person who's going to finish that unfinished story, you're looking at the heroic twit who's going to do it!" and slapped the frozen Makoto hard.

The class erupted in laughter.

When Okita finally managed to stop laughing and calm the class down, he knew he had to appoint someone to show the new girl around. He looked around, seeing many eager faces. No doubt, a good majority of the guys in the entire school wanted to be the first to hit on the new foreign girl. Which was why appointing a girl might be a good idea. He glanced briefly at Sophia, who met his gaze briefly. And he stopped.

Yes…there was someone he could trust, never mind the fact that he was a boy. And playing a prank on him once in a while would be a good idea. He needed to shed some of his inflexible ways a little. And besides…Makoto could be trusted, even though **_that_** had happened.

"Now, who should I elect for the task of showing the new girl around? Oy, Kusakabe…"

Makoto, who had been putting on his earphones and attempting to make himself look inconspicuous, soon found himself trapped again.

"Y...yes?"

"I want you to show Sophia-san around. Can you do that?"

Makoto had to wait for the groans of disappointment from the guys to die down before he could answer.

"I can…but are you sure about this, Okita? It's part of the school regulations to have girls show the new girls around. Why don't you let someone like Mika or Tokiya handle this? There are some places in school that I cannot enter and you know it. I don't want to live through another beating like the last time!"

For the second time in 15 minutes, the entire class was wracked in convulsions. No one would ever forget that particular incident – or ever would, if given the chance. Makoto had been tricked by Saori-sensei several weeks prior to the summer holidays to clean out the Girls' Changing Room at a certain time as part of his punishment for coming to school late. Given the choice between facing Yuko-sensei's 'punishments' and Saori-sensei's pranks, it had been a pretty easy decision.

Saori-sensei had, however, neglected to tell Makoto that the girls of Kyoto High's volleyball team had been inside waiting to ambush him. The entire team had whacked Makoto within an inch of his life and tossed him into the pool without his clothes – after they were done kissing him. Makoto had been lucky that he had packed his kendo gi and hakama. The scoreboard had been written in permanent ink: Makoto Kusakabe 0, Kyoto High Girls' Volleyball Team 15. Makoto managed to find his clothes with minimal embarrassment, only to find his socks pinned to the incriminating scoreboard.

Okita struggled to keep a straight face, "I know. But Tokiya's class has a new transfer student as well, and her class representative has caught a cold, that lucky bastard. Sophia-san, Makoto-san will be your chaperon for today. He has lived in Kyoto all his life, so if you have any difficulties, do not hesitate asking him for help."

Sophia nodded her thanks and strode towards Makoto, "Please to meet you, Kusakabe-kun."

"Y…you, too," he stammered. This close, the warm presence of the girl washed over him like a tidal wave.

Tokiya, however, was unaffected and grinned, "Do be careful, Sophia-san. Like the rest of the boys in the class, this one is no less hopeless. He's all talk and swagger and nothing else. And no less the pervert, to boot."

Makoto growled, "Urusaii! What did I do to deserve that remark?"

"And don't you dare tell me to be quiet. And what did you do to deserve that? Plenty of things! Do you want me to name them for you in front of Sophia and the rest of the class? She should be careful of wolves like you!" Tokiya replied, her brown-amber eyes challenging.

"Why you-!"

Okita looked at Makoto and Tokiya in exasperation, "Can the both of you please not quarrel on the first day in school? I'm starting to actually believe the rumours about the both of you! You quarrel like newlyweds!"

The class exploded in laughter for the 3rd time in 20 minutes, and some of the students came close to pissing in their trousers from laughing too hard. Sophia giggled musically, amused by the two fiery personalities before her. For their part, Tokiya and Makoto blushed furiously in embarrassment.

X X X X X X 

As the school bell signaled the start of lessons, a girl strode through the gates of Kyoto High, her long amethyst ponytail swaying with the wind. Her scarlet-red eyes took in the sight of the building before her. She smiled, "Hmmm…So, this is where you are, Sword Bearer. Now, you and I can finally meet face to face. I look forward to it."

As she strode gracefully across the courtyard, the girl's sharp eyes caught sight of the church that stood at the far end of the school's compound. Her eyes narrowed at the sigil of the cross that was outlined by the yellow orb of the Unconquered Sun.

That cross was a symbol of power, of undying authority, of the omnipotent might of the One Above. The cross was also a source of ancient, bitter memories of betrayal and exile. It was the last thing that many of the defeated saw before they were cast down.

The girl's lips tightened.

No more.

When the millennium turns, all of that will end when they march forth once more to pay out that bitter betrayal.

Even so, she acknowledged that the task was by no means easy. And there was a distinct possibility that it may well fail. The might and guile of the One Above was unfathomable and indescribable. It is an uncomfortable feeling going into a battle knowing you would win, but at the back of your mind, you wonder if you are walking to victory because your opponent wants you to, only to have your own victory defeat you.

But, even so, the girl was not going to back down.

"And now, let us play the endgame, oh Ancient One," she hissed, "And this time, you will lose."


	4. A Silent Escalation

_**Chapter 2: A silent escalation**_

_**Kyoto City, Japan, 7th September 1999, Tuesday, 1200 hrs**_

Lunchtime in schools across Japan has always been a noisy affair. The familiar chaos of the canteen surrounded Makoto as he sat at the table closest to the overhanging television while waiting for his friends to come. Overall, the first week promised to be an interesting one, if the first day was any indication. Sophia had hit it off with everyone on the first day, and the girls had crowded around her during the lunch-break, asking the German girl questions about life in Germany and what it was like.

Many of the guys had immediately developed a liking to their new classmate, and had gone green with envy when they heard that he had been the one to show the girl around school. Sophia was pleasant to be around with and Makoto found himself struggling not to tell the girl more about himself than was necessary. He smiled. Sophia was dangerous, in an innocent and pure way. She had an air about her that could make a person part with one's most cherished secrets in short order.

He was grateful that she did not ask too many personal questions. He would not have been able to give good answers. Sophia did, however, ask about more mundane things, like his hobbies and what the teachers were like. He gave her a frank assessment of each one, inserting sarcastic – but not insulting – remarks on those that he wasn't particularly on good terms with. Sophia had giggled when he told her about some of the idiosyncrasies of some of the teachers and students.

When he told her some of his, she had choked trying to control her laughter.

And that was not all.

During lunchtime yesterday, Tokiya had told him about a new girl that had joined 2-1. Like Sophia, she was also a German. Her name was Lilith Aridel. The boys in her class – and no few male teachers – had drooled at the sight of her. And when Makoto saw her during 2-1's PE lesson, he could finally understand why.

Lilith was drop-dead gorgeous.

Whereas Sophia's beauty was chaste and pure, Lilith's was dark and seductive, radiating an air of mystery and danger. The latter had long, silver-amethyst hair tied in a long ponytail and scarlet eyes that radiated confidence and strength. Her lean figure told Makoto that Lilith was an athlete, and the grace and swiftness in which she moved told him that were she to join the Kendo Club, he was in for a world of pain. She had already left the entire class panting in exhaustion, and only Tokiya had been able to keep up with her. Only sheer stubbornness had kept the latter on her feet.

When Lilith caught sight of him staring at her, she had stopped running and smiled in his direction. Her regal poise and proud bearing reminded Makoto of a professional soldier, and the way she looked at him told Makoto that she viewed him as an equal.

With that event, Makoto became Public Enemy No. 1.

Two beautiful, foreign girls were already eyeing him – on the first day they see him! Out of a manga, and right into real life. Shinichi would be jealous. No, not jealous. Thankful – considering the fact that he was already a marked man for a good number of girls, he did not want to add two more to a list longer than his arm.

"And now, we bring you the 12 o' clock news," the television announced, seconds before the newsroom was superimposed on the screen. A man and a woman sat facing the camera.

"Good afternoon, Kyoto. My name is Asahina Kyoko," the woman said.

"And I am Minoru Haruka. We will be your hosts on this afternoon's edition of NNN. Now, to the headlines. Just this afternoon, a brutal murder has been discovered in the back alleys of the Kiyamachi entertainment district by garbage collectors as they went about their rounds. Police arrived on-site within 15 minutes of the discovery, and their spokesman at the scene comments, quote 'the most brutal murder that I have seen in all my 20 years of service' unquote. Our on-site reporter reports…" and the view paneled to a silver-haired reporter interviewing a man wearing the overalls normally worn by the city's garbage collectors.

"Good afternoon. This is Mizoguchi Hana reporting at the crime scene. I have with me the chief of Truck 24, which operates in the Kiyamachi district. Please, in your own words and time, Hiko-san, tell us what happened."

Makoto saw that the older man, at least in his late 40s, was pale and drawn and his eyes were empty and sightless. Whatever it was he saw had dredged up a lifetime of fears of monsters that he had never thought existed. It took him a while before he could finally talk.

"My boys and I came in…same time as always, to clear the dumpsters in this area when we found what was left of…some guy. From the way he was dressed…I think he was one of the Black Suns bikers. One of my boys, Ichiro knew him from back when they were both in the same gang…and damn it, he freaked out. And I don't bloody blame him. The place looked like a slaughterhouse…There was blood everywhere…everywhere. And the look on that guy's face…I don't think I'll ever forget it. Jesus, I don't know what the hell he saw before he died…but whatever it is, is one thing I don't wanna see when I die."

The truck chief turned and left, clearly not wishing to answer the reporter's questions any further.

"I'll now try to speak with Ichiro, the man who stumbled upon the scene."

"Try to see if you can talk to any other member of truck 24, Hana-san, or if you're able to bring us a firsthand look of the crime scene."

"I'll try."

The reporter and her cameraman swerved amidst other news-crew members, police officers and paramedics to find their intended interviewees, only to find that they were being interviewed by several police officers. Shaking her head to her cameraman, she pointed in the direction of the cordoned off crime scene. Before she could take five steps into the alley, several grim looking police officers barred their way.

One of them, a female lieutenant with green hair, shook her head, "Believe me, you don't want to see what's back there."

"What's back there?"

"Something out of a horror film – except that what's there is for real."

A retching sound interrupted their conversation, and a forensics expert stumbled out, his breakfast making an encore appearance.

Hana's face turned pale, "Is it that bad?"

"My boots have seen what I have seen," and the camera panned to the police officers' once shiny boots. They were covered in blood and ragged bits of flesh.

"I see," the silver-haired reporter said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

"The District Chief will be holding a press interview sometime soon. You will get your answers then. I want this place sealed off. No one without the proper clearance or the chief's permission gets in – do I make myself clear?" the lieutenant said, the last two sentences directed at her men.

8 heads nodded in affirmation.

Facing the camera once again, the reporter said, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can get an interview from the truck crew or give our viewers a look at the handiwork of the Kiyamachi Manslayer. Back to you, Kyoko, Minoru."

The newsroom returned to the screen, with both newspersons exchanging disturbed looks with each other and the broadcasting crew before continuing.

"The deceased is identified as Konda Todo, 24, a member of the Black Suns biker gang."

A picture of the deceased individual appeared on the upper right hand corner of the screen, "The time of death was estimated between 12 and 24 hours, and occurred between 8 a.m. yesterday and 9 a.m. today. Police are still investigating the incident – the 4th one this month – and are appealing for witnesses to come forward.

"And now, on to the Business segment…"

"That's the 4th one this month," Tokiya said as she sat across Makoto.

"4th one?"

"Yes. Didn't you know that the last three murders have happened in the Kiyamachi district in the past 3 weeks alone? Police have increased their patrols in the area, but are no closer to finding the culprit."

Shinichi chose that time to join the conversation, "That's not the only thing that's been the talk of the town lately. I've been talking to some of my friends on the Internet forums, both here and overseas. From what I hear, it's as if everything is going down the toilet. Crime rates soaring, political, economic and social instability, millenium fears, End of the World hysteria…Kami-sama, I can go on forever. Even so, I've taken down some ideas for our project, Makoto. Some of them are…"

Makoto raised his chopsticks, stopping his cousin in mid-sentence, his eyes still fixed on the television. The latter and Tokiya followed his pensive gaze to the news broadcast as it went to global affairs.

"_**In recent developments, there has been an outbreak of violence in the Middle East. 10 Israelis and 15 Palestinians have been killed when 5 car bombs exploded along the West Bank. Over 2 dozen bystanders have been injured in the blasts and are being treated for shrapnel wounds. Extremist groups, Islamic Jihad and Hamas, have claimed responsibility for the incidents, claiming that the acts of terrorism is in retaliation for when the Israeli military fired missiles into a Palestinian neighbourhood several weeks prior. **_

"_**Their spokespeople, however, have expressed regret that several of their own people have been caught in the explosions, and have vowed that they will make no more such mistakes. The incident has escalated tensions within the Middle East, and formerly neutral governments or those friendly to the US have been pressured by the conservatives to abandon their alliance with the US and take up arms against the quote 'infidels' unquote.**_

"_**Israeli officials have lambasted the PLO for failing to curb the militant organisations that it accuses of secretly funding. Officials in the PLO have rebuffed such accusations, calling them baseless."**_

The image of Yasser Arafat, the leader of the PLO, appeared, his aged face furious, "**_The Israeli government tells me that my people and I should stop these extremist parties from killing their civilians. They tell me to stop funding them. They tell me that I should cripple or dismantle these organisations. _**

"_**Tell me how am I supposed to do any of that. I am imprisoned in my own headquarters, my party is struggling financially and I do not have sufficient manpower in my police forces or even an army to carry out the first or the third demands. You want these attacks to stop? You stop attacking first. You spilt first blood, and you condemn my people for that sin – real or imagined? This cycle of violence must stop.**_

"_**I want to stop it, but the Israeli government is afraid that once I acquire the power needed to carry out their…demands…they will see an armed revolt. So tell me, hawks of Likud, how am I supposed to stop my peoples' wrath when you won't withhold yours?"**_

"_**The Israeli government has replied in no uncertain terms that they would only stop their military operations if the extremist groups cease their acts of terrorism. Likud party spokesman…"**_

"It's sad, isn't it?" a familiar voice cut in. Everyone turned around to see the young, yet regal, face of Saori-sensei, holding in her hands a tray of food. Her green eyes were fixed upon the television screen as it showed the angry face of a senior Israeli government official demanding stricter measures to prevent terrorist from entering Israel itself, and harsher measures on the terrorist groups and their affiliates.

The image soon changed to the scenes of devastation that had been wrought by the car bombs in the once-lively business and entertainment districts of the West Bank City of Ramallah. The wailing sirens of the ambulance were mingled with anguished screams of parents who clutched the broken bodies of their children and the broken moans of men and women who had suffered shrapnel wounds or who had lost limbs in the blasts.

Makoto noticed that the attention of the entire canteen was on the bloody events being broadcasted on the television. He closed his eyes.

'_There is nothing about Man that is good,' _an inner voice whispered. Makoto ignored it.

'_Because, what is happening now is no different from those days after the deed was done. And it will be no different no matter how many ages pass.'_

"Makoto-kun?"

Makoto jerked back as though struck, and he saw that Shinichi, Tokiya and Saori-sensei, now seated, were staring at him concernedly.

"Are you alright?" Tokiya asked.

He nodded and grinned apologetically, "Sorry. Just spaced out for a minute there."

"Care to tell us what you were thinking of?" Saori-sensei asked, looking at Makoto through hooded eyes, smiling playfully, "You were a statue for 5 whole minutes. Whatever is on your mind could definitely use an adult's guidance."

Makoto flinched. Tokiya stifled a giggle. Shinichi rolled his eyes.

_'Saori-sensei an adult? You have got to be kidding me. And why the Hell is she sitting right in front of me? Oh no…I know that look…'_

He saw several students sitting behind his fox-woman of a teacher looking at him sympathetically. One of them drew one finger across his throat.

_'Tell me something I don't know…'_

X X X X X X

Kyoto District Morgue, 7th September 1999, 1500 hrs 

Doctor Rika Misanagi had worked in the Kyoto Metropolitan Police Department as a Forensics expert for over 10 years. In that time, she had dealt with plenty of criminal cases and had performed dozens of autopsies on bodies in various degrees of dismemberment. She was, as a result, inured to the sight of torn and mangled bodies. But, the torn corpse of the gangster Konda Todo, even though his wounds were cleansed of blood and viscera, was a stern test of Rika's composure. Because never in all her years working in the force had she seen a body so mangled and crushed as the gangster's.

Detective Yuna Hikari had never seen her friend paler in all the years that she knew her. Knowing better than to ask immediately for the results, the chestnut-haired detective waited until her red-haired compatriot was ready to talk. If the drawn faces of her colleagues sitting outside were any indication, to press the issue would only irritate Rika. Her friend had one hell of a temper.

Placing the styrofoam cup next to Rika, she turned her gaze upon the now sewn corpse of Konda Todo. Even with the body sown up, Yuna was still horrified at the extent of the damage.

'_Spirits, how many stitches are there on this guy?'_

"Over 500, that much I can tell you," came the shaky voice of Rika as she reached out and took hold of the styrofoam cup in equally shaky hands, "I've seen bodies recovered from train wrecks that were in better condition than him."

Rika took a sip of her tea, the drink soothing her already frayed nerves.

"So, can you give me something to tell the chief before you submit the official report? He's jumping on my ass for it."

"I don't blame Kuro-chan, what with the District Chief squeezing his balls for it. It's a good thing you called me in for this, because I sure as hell will tell you that there are less than a dozen people who can hold their lunches in after seeing what happened to Konda-san."

That was not the only reason why Detective Yuna had her friend do the autopsy. Not only was she one of the best in her field, Rika had also been a profiler in Criminal Investigations Bureau before she transferred to Forensics. She could profile the murderer and narrow down the list of suspects considerably, as well as provide insight on the kind of weapons used and the frame of mind the killer was in. And she needed to give something concrete to her superiors before they got unhappy – fast.

"So did you find anything, Rika-chan? Are there any similarities with the other 3 murders?"

The doctor took several sips before answering, "To answer your first question, yes. To answer the second, there is a link…but it is tenuous. And you are not going to like what I'm about to tell you."

Yuna grinned wryly, "Give it to me straight, Rika-chan. I can take it."

"Don't play the tough girl with me, Yuna. I've seen a lot of shit in all the years I've worked in the force. I'm not an easy girl to scare and you know that," Rika said, her face holding no vestige of humour, "But this guy…whatever…whoever it is that killed him, scares me."

The grin fell from the detective's face, and she took out a notepad and a pen, "Tell me straight, anyway."

Rika finished her drink in one gulp, before proceeding to tell Yuna the details. As the minutes wore on, the chill in the autopsy room deepened, and a cold dread gripped the detective's heart. Konda Todo had died slowly and in utter torment.

He had been alive and conscious when he was crucified to the concrete wall with a pair of combat knives through his hands and a steel pipe through both his legs. His spine had been broken in several places – something Rika deduced had been caused when he had been **_flung _**to the concrete wall – and his tongue forcibly removed moments before his killer started torturing him. And when the latter was through with him, Konda's body looked as if it had been recovered from a train wreck.

The sheer thought of the cruelty of Konda's killer – never mind that the gangster was almost no better – was enough to make the detective sick. No one had deserved to die in the way Konda Todo had died.

"Take a look at this," Rika said, handing Yuna a manila folder, "What I've written there is somewhat hard to believe, but Kuro-chan knows better than to argue with me. Believe me when I say this, Yuna-chan. Whoever killed Konda-san here is not only inhumanly strong, but is sadistic beyond reason. Konda's body sported over a hundred cuts, Yuna, each one made to inflict maximum agony.

"I have counted 46 major bone breaks in his body – and that is not including the 4 breaks in his spine. The injuries inflicted to his groin and kidney area are, by far, the most horrific. His family jewels have been…crushed…just like his arms and legs. His entire right kidney had been quite literally…torn from his body. My people found the organ five metres from his mutilated corpse. I've DNA-tested it. It's his, all right."

Yuna looked very, very sick. The contents in the manila folder made her even more so, "Kami-sama, Rika. What are we up against here?"

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

Yuna nodded.

"Whatever it is we're searching for is most definitely not human."

"What makes you say that?"

Rika stood up and pulled the pictures clipped to the folder, looked through them, and passed one of them to Yuna.

"Because no human I know can leave 3-inch claw marks. See this? And this? The claw marks are equidistant to one another. Either our psychopath here used wrist knives or he had a tiger accompanying him."

"Did you find any evidence at the crime scene?"

Rika remained quiet for several minutes, "No. Ikeda-kun went through the place with a fine-toothed comb. We found nothing. Just like the other 3 murders. You asked me if I had a link just now. You can tell Kuro-chan that there is a possibility of a cult operating in Kyoto."

"What led you to that conclusion?"

Rika stubbed the cigarette on the nearby counter and strode towards Konda's body, "This is why."

Rika threw back the shroud. Yuna gave a strangled gasp. Strange markings had been gouged, crimson against Konda's tanned skin. It made Yuna feel uneasy just looking at them.

"My God…"

"God has nothing to do with this, Yuna-chan. I've seen this before when I worked in the NYPD in the US some years back. These are satanic markings. There is also one other thing I think you already know. Each one of the victims killed by the Kiyamachi Manslayer has a very colorful criminal record. If the Devil has come to collect those promised to him, I sure as Hell won't even bother issuing a warrant for his arrest."

X X X X X X X

Kyoto High School Staff Room, 1700 hrs, 7th September 1999 

Ruida Sakurazuka had been sitting quietly at her desk for the past two hours ever since lessons ended. Although her exterior was composed, her mind was a chaotic maelstrom. Even as she scrutinised her pupils' holiday homework, her mind was elsewhere. Ruida had worked in Kyoto High for over 3 years ever since she managed to secure a teaching post there. Life was as it had always been – peaceful, meaningful, with upheavals few and far between.

Ruida had been many things before she made the decision to walk the path of the teacher. She found the profession as one capable of calming her troubled soul, a balm to the wound that had never healed. As one, she could confer her hard-earned wisdom and knowledge to future generations. There were times, however, when her real age actually showed, making her students wonder as to whether she was really 24 years old.

An old phrase from an English movie made her smile briefly: 'You can't handle the truth!'

How true those words are. Should anyone discover who she really was, it would cause her an immense amount of discomfort, to say nothing of the attention of various organisations whose agendas involved hunting beings like her. They had done so for a very long time, and they carried their mission as she had a long time ago: with a brutal, angry faith.

But now…Ruida realised that she was not alone. There were two other beings like her in close proximity. Both she knew from days long ago. By the spirits, how long has it truly been? She had lived for so long that she never saw the years pass her by. It was the same with anyone, really. They live their lives one day at a time, and by the time they stop and see the steps they have taken from childhood, they were already old.

One had been her junior and a loyal friend in days long past. Sophia had not changed much, but there was a sad air about her that told Ruida that she had borne witness to bitter events that had left her scarred. And why was she alone? What was the reason to that?

Sophia had many friends back home who could have accompanied her; the sheer thought of her being sent alone for the task was unbelievable. And Ruida was disappointed to find that Sophia was not going to tell her the reason why.

Once upon a time, they had been as close as sisters could be. Although Sophia was younger than Ruida by far, the former was the wiser of the two of them. Advice from Sophia had always been sound, even if the outcome was not what Ruida wanted. For a long time, Ruida had blamed Sophia for the outcome, before realising that no amount of blame could make things right.

Fate played hard ball, and had proven across the ages that she was as cold-blooded as she was mercurial. And it would seem She was about to give Sophia a draught of her cruelty, and give Ruida another slap across the face.

The second worried Ruida. Hours after meeting Sophia, Ruida had bumped into someone she knew from long ago. It was the sight of the second girl that almost caused the blue-haired teacher to throw the Masquerade out the window. Smiling mockingly, arrogantly, before her had been a former friend, a bitter enemy, and one of the few who had accepted Ruida's decision to make her own choices.

Lilith Aridel had, like Sophia, not changed much over the course of the years that had passed. Once gentle and mischievous scarlet eyes now blazed with pride and well-concealed malice. Those same eyes and posture radiated with the same fiery passion and determination that Ruida knew from long ago when they had served the same master together. Lilith did not speak a word to Ruida, and merely smiled at her before walking away, leaving behind scores of drooling guys and jealous girls in her wake.

Ruida had stared at her departing figure, feeling a deadly sense of déjà vu. Lilith and Sophia, both representing opposing factions, were in the same place. It was a recipe for disaster. But, why exactly were they here? Was it because of that event several weeks prior? From a hilltop outside the city, Ruida had borne witness to something that had not been seen since the world was young. For a brief moment, an aurora borealis, akin to the blazing halo of an angel, encircled an entire section of Kyoto City. She had seen that sigil a long, long time ago. And it was good reason for her to worry.

The last time such an event had happened was 1,000 years ago, and all 7 Sigils had appeared in Europe and the Middle East. For 7 full days and nights, a solar and lunar eclipse plunged the entire world into darkness and sparked off a brutal inquisition for heretics and the like. Most Church officials believed that the eclipse was a sign of God's disfavor, but those that knew otherwise dispatched their best to resolve the crisis.

Close to 50 men and women across 3 major faiths joined hands, heroes in that hour of darkness and whose names were forever lost to history. Theirs had been a mission of mercy and faith, tempered by the steely edge of retribution. Only the most obscure records deep within the vaults of the Vatican spoke of their trials and tribulations, and the heavy price they had paid to attain victory.

And now, 1,000 years later, it was about to start all over again.

7 similar sigils had appeared worldwide, almost simultaneously. It had the UFO theorists in an uproar and had countless government agencies pondering on what this event could mean. Only the Church – and those who were familiar with religious legends – knew what those sigils portended.

Two similar flaming sigils had been sighted for brief moments from space in Israel, around the ruins of the ancient city of Har-Meggido – or better known as Armageddon in biblical text – and around Jerusalem.

Middle East, around the ruins of the ancient city of Meggido and around the city of Jerusalem.

Another two had appeared on the African continent, a glorious, black sunburst on the golden-brown desert landscape.

One was seen in the Andes Mountains in America.

The last blazed gloriously in the Australian Outback.

The young student teacher stood up and prepared to leave the staff room. She wanted to return to the quiet sanctity of her haven, to ponder the events that had transpired and what was to come. She halted briefly, however, when her eyes caught sight of today's newspaper. Ruida had rushed to work this morning, and didn't have time to catch up on the latest news. A brief look at its headlines hardened Ruida's normally calm and placid face: '4TH MURDER THIS MONTH IN KIYAMACHI DISTRICT. SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE'.

A brief description of what had been done to the victim told Ruida all she needed to know on who exactly committed the murder. There was no chance in hell that the police would believe that a 16-year old girl was capable of doing what had been described in the papers.

And besides, Ruida knew the victim. He had been expelled from Yanagi High School some 4 years ago. He had a long, long line of disciplinary problems that would make Kyoto High's resident troublemakers look like amateurs. Ruida had, on a friend's request, tried to counsel the errant student. It had not ended well.

Ruida had washed her hands off of the entire affair, a clear signal to Yanagi High's principal that the decision to expel Konda Todo would come sooner or latter. And now, Konda Todo would never have the chance to right his many wrongs, or fulfil the promise he had made to his now-mourning younger stepsiblings to be an upstanding member of society. The blue-haired teacher closed her eyes. There was still time for her to visit the Todo family.

X X X X X X Kyoto City National Library, 1700 hrs, 7th September 1999 

Shizuka Hayame had hoped to get a chance to speak with Sophia, but never would she have thought that the two of them would meet so soon. The young nun had always loved the library. To her, short of the Church in which she had lived and worked in all her life, it was a sanctity that promised privacy and peace. And clearly, the new transfer student thought so as well. She was still dressed in her school uniform, and Makoto was with her.

The young woman smiled when she saw Sophia laugh as Makoto took her through the sections. A regular to the library himself, Makoto knew several of its workers and every inch of the enormous building that hosted everything from Japanese literature to foreign history. And thanks to him, Shizuka had a part-time job there as well, after a few favours asked and a full strings pulled.

Hiroyuki Fujita, the old manager of the library, and his wife, Shiho, were fond of Makoto, and treated him like they treated their grandchildren. Whenever the Fujita family held their annual reunion dinners, Makoto would ensure that _Tsuki _had several tables reserved for the occasion.

Shizuka saw the two library managers walking through the aisles of studying students and wooden tables, and they greeted Makoto. She could not hear what they were saying, but the fact that Makoto was blushing and Sophia smiling made the question obvious. It was clear to Shizuka, from the way Sophia was acting, that the new transferee was fond of her chaperon.

And truth be told, Shizuka was neither surprised nor jealous. Shizuka was among the small group of girls who were fond of the kind, if not clumsy, Makoto. He was a far cry from most of the playboys in school, and no few girls wondered what he would be like in bed.

The quiet rumours that floated about his relationship to the influential Mikage family cast a mysterious aura about him that many girls found appealing. Shizuka was one of a handful of people who knew where Makoto stood in the wealthy, and how he felt about them.

Shizuka looked at Sophia as she conversed with Shiho. There was a warm aura emanating from Sophia, one that Shizuka recognised from yesterday. Warm, pulsing, like warm sunlight on a cold, winter day. Many of the library's visitors were starting to smile quietly as they read, and those that took notice of it felt the quiet warmth of their surroundings. The library seemed to radiate a sense of undying glory, and the way the sun shone through the stained-glass frescoes and the unbending might of the pillars that held it up seemed to whisper the stories of men and women who had graced its halls.

"Shizuka-san?" spoke a timid voice behind her. Shizuka turned around to see another familiar face. Younger than her by almost 3 years, with short black hair and cobalt eyes, was Shinji Ikari, the ward – and some say lover – of a certain police officer known as Katsuragi Misato. At 15 years old, Shinji was almost half the age of a woman 14 years his senior.

"_Konbanwa_, Ikari-kun. Can I help you?"

The young student, clad in his pristine white uniform and brown trousers, strode forward, holding up a paper detailing the location of a book, "Sorry, Shizuka-san, but I need help finding this for my project. It's quite urgent and…I'm sorry, did I come at a bad time?"

"Not so. I just saw one of my newest classmates downstairs, and wanted to talk to her. But I guess," she glanced over her shoulder, and saw that both Sophia and Makoto had left, "I have to do so another time."

"I'm sorry."

Shizuka smiled and mussed up Shinji's hair playfully, "Don't worry about it."

X X X X X X

Tokiya Marimo stepped out of the fast-food restaurant where she and her club-mates had been resting their sore bodies for the last two hours ever since practice ended. Today had not been an easy day, and Yuko-sensei's foul mood had made it a whole lot worse. When the entire Athletics Club found out that the head instructor was still on leave, they knew they were in for it. The fierce glare that Yuko-sensei shot the entire team spoke volumes of the pain that was about to be inflicted.

The lucky ones – Tokiya included – still had the strength to crawl out of school after practice ended. The unlucky ones were still there, reattaching their limbs and wondering how many heartbeats they had left before they were finally allowed to die. Tokiya had wanted to go home immediately but Kanako, the club vice-president, had some club matters to settle with her.

She had been reluctant at first, but when Kanako offered to buy her a round of drinks at MacDonald's, Tokiya had folded like a house of cards. And besides, she needed it badly.Especially after a long day like today.

As she made her way to the train station, Tokiya was already making plans for what she was going to do when she got home. The streets were crowded with people who had finished work and were either heading home or looking for the nearest bar to unwind after a hard day. Nothing out of the ordinary, to Tokiya's eyes, if one does not consider the increased presence of police officers on patrol out of the ordinary.

With the Kiyamachi Murders nowhere close to being solved, the police department had chosen to step up its patrols. Tokiya shivered, remembering the details of the murders. She hoped that the police would apprehend the murderer before someone else died at the hands of the Manslayer. Never mind the fact that those that have died so far were criminals themselves, but to die in such a fashion was beyond cruel.

And the creepiest thing about the murders was that the police could not find any clues on who was responsible for them, nor did they have the slightest idea as to what kind of weapon had been used to commit them. Shinichi had a relative who worked inside the police force's forensics department, and she had sent her nephew details on the recent Kiyamachi slayings, knowing that the latter would find it interesting.

Even Makoto had turned pale upon seeing the pictures, but the expression she saw on his face when he looked at the pictures of the alley walls vexed her. It was as if he…knew them. As if he knew what those blood-drawn sigils meant. The looks of recognition, however, faded within moments.

She felt her stomach turn as the images she had seen on Shinichi's laptop returned to her, _'Kami-sama, that's it! I'm not watching another horror movie for as long as I live. I lost 10 years off of my life after seeing that!'_

Tokiya knew that, exhausted as she was, sleep would not come easy tonight, and all the running Yuko-sensei put her through could not wipe those horrific images from her mind.

The sheer thought of a real, cloven-hoofed, horned Devil stalking the streets of Kyoto by night, seeking out those it had marked to be dragged to Hell's sulphurous depths, was enough to make real the horror in Makoto's 'Circle of the Fallen' project. His father had already succeeded in his evil quest to terrify the world; God help everyone should Makoto finish his father's work. No one would ever be able to sleep again!

Tokiya growled. After reading the first book of the incomplete trilogy, the fiery vice class-rep had been unable to sleep without the lights on. Her younger sister, Haruka, had giggled at the sight of her elder sister terrified out of her mind by a ghost story.

Infuriated, Tokiya had had given her younger sister the book. As a result, the latter had not been able to sleep well for two whole weeks without the lights on. After that, Haruka needed to only see the book cover to have her flee the vicinity. Her parents tried the book. They loved it. And lost sleep for the next 6 days.

And they blamed her for it, before proceeding to ask her when the next book would come out. They wanted to be amongst the first to receive signed copies of the trilogy's final book. She giggled. Her parents were into good books and the reading sessions they held almost daily were considered family time.

"Oh, it's you," spoke a familiar voice.

Tokiya froze. She knew that voice. There was no one in Kyoto High who did not recognize the owner of that haughty, yet sultry voice. Enishi-sensei, in particular, would not forget it anytime soon. With her conservative mindset and her inherent dislike of _gaijin_, she had attempted to belittle and humiliate Lilith. Oh, how it backfired! Enishi-sensei had departed the class hastily – and almost gratefully – when the bell rang.

Tokiya turned to see the amethyst-haired German girl walking up to her. Like her, the latter was still in her school uniform and was carrying her schoolbag as well as a bag of groceries.

"Hello, Lilith-san. What are you doing?"

The amethyst-haired girl smiled, "Getting to know the city better, Tokiya-san. Kyoto is, after all, a big city. I need to know my way around. Where are you going?"

"Home."

"I see. You look tired."

"I should be. Yuko-sensei cracked the whip today. She wiped the running track with the entire club."

"Did she, hmm?"

"In a way you wouldn't believe. I'd be tempted to ask you to join the Athletics Team, seeing that you are pretty fit, but I'd be downright malicious if I didn't warn you in advance about the kind of instructors we have."

"Believe me when I say that I'm no pushover, Tokiya-san."

"I know," Tokiya chuckled, "I've seen you lay my entire class to waste, and that's why I want to have you join. If you were in the Team six months back, Kyoto High would have won the regional championships. What do you say, Lilith-san? Why not give it a go?"

"I'll think about it. When is it?

"Thursday afternoon."

The steam-powered clock tower close to the mall started to chime, causing Tokiya to look down at her watch. She grimaced, "Drat…I'd better get home quick in any case. I have to prepare dinner. I'll see you tomorrow, Lilith-san."

Lilith nodded, "One question, Tokiya-san, if it is alright with you."

"Yes?"

"The boy you were talking with yesterday afternoon on the rooftop during lunch. Who was he?"

Tokiya raised an eyebrow, _'Taking a shine to someone already, Lilith-san?' _"Ah? Which one? I talked to several boys during that time."

"The one that was carrying that blue shinai bag."

Blue shinai bag? There was only one person in all of Kyoto High that carried a blue shinai bag – and one emblazoned boldly with a golden cross and Latin prayer script.

"Oh, you mean Makoto. Why? Did that baka do something to you?" Tokiya scowled, "If he did, I'll…"

Lilith raised an eyebrow in amusement, "Oh, quite the contrary, Tokiya-san. He did nothing to me. Why? Would you rather that he did?"

Tokiya's face turned crimson.

X X X X X X X X

_**24-Hours Market, 1900 hrs, 7th September 1999**_

Makoto looked through the list that his aunt had given to him earlier this morning and he sighed inwardly. Why was he not surprised that that was in the list as well? Sake and beer. The former for his aunt, the latter for Misato, all in preparation for the party the latter had planned when _Tsuki_ closed for the day. Though he looked forward to it, Makoto was most certainly not looking forward to the aftermath. The destruction caused by a Richter 9 earthquake several years prior would pale in comparison to the mess that both his aunt and Misato-san would leave when their party was done.

Shinji Ikari, Misato's ward, and a student in Makoto's school, and one of the juniors in the Kendo Club, would also be attending. No doubt, the 15-year old was already resigned to the fact that he may have to drive and carry his heavier guardian back to their apartment. Makoto grinned, almost pitying the situation his junior was in.

Shinji had often complained about his guardian's sloppy and lazy nature but his friends and schoolmates saw the hot woman that Misato was. Gregarious, playful and friendly, most people had trouble equating she presented to others with the steel-nerved Tactical Officer that worked in the Special Operations Command of the police force.

Makoto stopped in the alcohol section, and his dropping several six-packs caused more than one customer to shoot him looks of disapproval. He ignored them. Teenagers his age were already having sex; what was the big deal about him taking alcohol anyway?

It was not as if he was the one drinking. Besides, he knew that he was a lightweight. One draught of sake, and within 5 minutes, he would be out cold. The sound of Misato's laughter echoed in his mind. The first time he had drunk sake was the last time he ever touched anything that had alcohol in it. What a way to end 16th birthday!

He picked up several cans of tuna, crabmeat and corned beef and threw them into the basket. Several loaves of bread followed. 3 bottles of coke joined it soon afterwards. Several packets of snacks and instant noodles finished the list. "There," he grinned, "that's all the stuff I need to get for Saya oba-san's party. Now, let me see if I missed anything. Sake and beer – check. Tuna, crabmeat and corned beef – in. 6 loaves of bread – check. Snacks and instant noodles – check. Tea bags?"

_Wait a minute…_

Makoto started to sweat. Alcohol and tea bags are a combination that the young man had learnt to dread. His aunt was in one of her melancholic moods again. That meant he would be late for school again. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to the fact that there might be a possibility that Yuko-sensei would be on his case tomorrow. Makoto was unable to hate his aunt for putting him in such an awkward position.

Pain was something not easily borne, and its burden has been known to crush even the strongest beneath its weight. His aunt bore it well, but there were times when that steely façade cracked to reveal the lonely, sad woman beneath.

Makoto strode back to the tea section, his fingers running across the different brands of tea when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand, a clear sign that someone was watching him. He turned to see a familiar girl watching him.

A girl with amethyst hair and crimson eyes – it was Lilith Aridel.

"Speak of the devil, and look who I come across," the girl grinned, "Makoto Kusakabe."

"Lilith-san," Makoto nodded in greeting, "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" and she raised a basket.

"But, isn't that enough?" Makoto asked, pointing to the other full bag that Lilith held.

"Not if you're feeding two, Kusakabe-kun. I did not come to Japan alone. My brother has also been assigned here by his company to help set up their Japanese Branch. He sometimes drops by my place for dinner from time to time."

"What does he work as?"

"A private investigator for a security company. That kind of 'security'."

"I see. That's an…interesting job."

Lilith chuckled throatily, "Interesting if you like poking your nose into the private affairs of others, Kusakabe-kun. I doubt you're that…nosey but there are a lot of people who simply love knowing the skeletons that others hide in their closets. You'd be surprised at how much some of them are willing to pay in order to uncover such dirty secrets. And sometimes…they find out – too late – that it is best to let some sleeping dogs lie."

"True," Makoto said.

"They are, however, right about one thing: Knowledge is power. But with power comes a price – often a high one. Some are able to meet it. Some cannot. And yet…these men and women cannot purchase the one thing that is beyond price. The one thing that can buy you a thousand victories."

"And what may that be?"

"The knowledge of who you really are," Lilith smiled enigmatically, gazing into Makoto's eyes, "What you really are. What you can and will be, if you choose to be."

"What do you mean?" Makoto asked, flushing.

The amethyst-haired girl came closer, stopping when their faces were but inches away from one another. The smile she had on her lips lit her scarlet eyes with a ferocity Makoto had seen on wolves. Haughty, beautiful and strong, Lilith was the epitome of that fierce, loyal animal.

Steel and silk, fire and earth, up close and personal, the German girl radiated a charisma that commanded both respect and attention. Lilith clasped one firm, yet gentle hand, over his, an action that caused Makoto's heartbeat to skyrocket. Few girls he knew – save Kasumi and Tokiya – had ever been this direct, and none had ever been able to arouse such lust with a simple touch.

"You will find out eventually, Kusakabe-kun," she whispered, "I do not have much time to tell you more or to answer your questions. Time will do that better than I can. But, perhaps, you and I can talk more in the coming days. Yes, I'll like that. We still have time for that, at least."

She removed her hand, and strode past him, pausing briefly to blow into his ear. The sensation of her cool breath against his skin sent an erotic shiver down Makoto's spine. There was a sensuous promise in that gesture.

"Until then, Makoto, dream of me."

When Makoto was finally able to move, a quick glance at his watch told him that he had been paralysed for over five minutes. If Aoshi-sensei saw him in such a stunned state, he would pay the devil almost certainly. A scolding would be the least of his worries. He took several deep breaths, allowing his still-racing heart to return to its normal rate. There was no doubt about it. He would be dreaming about Lilith tonight.

X X X X X X 

**_Shinomori Dojo, 2100 hrs, 7th September 1999_**

Shinomori Aoshi, master of the Kamigari-ryu and keeper of the main Shinomori Dojo, sat quietly in the darkness of the training hall, a sheathed katana resting on his shoulder. The 46-year old ex-Inquisitor stared at the burning incense that had been set before the _kamiza_ to honour the gods and his ancestors, his mind far away, and yet his senses extending far beyond the boundaries of the training hall. No fallen spirit would catch him off-guard, or walk through the wards he had set up without suffering injury.

Defeating them, however, was another matter entirely.

Although Aoshi was still as strong as he was 20 years ago, the strain of casting the rituals to banish the fallen was greater now than before. He tried it once, and was almost knocked unconscious in the backlash. He just wasn't as young as he used to be, even though his will was still as strong. Aoshi rubbed his temples.

It was embarrassing that his old comrade-in-arms and keeper of the Kamigari Shrine in Sendai, Katsuragi Tsubaki (or Aozumi Tsubaki, as she was known back when there was still an Order of St. Michael) could still do it. The beautiful but scarred silver-haired and crystal-eyed priestess was still as formidable as she was 20 years ago.

Even amongst the fallen spirits, the name Tsubaki Katsuragi, the Angel of Ice, was more than enough to send them packing. Better to risk being enslaved by a more powerful demon than risk oblivion. Arousing the ire of the Angel of Ice was downright suicidal. Aoshi had seen the scale of the power and fury that the Priestess could bring to bear, and he could safely say that she was on par with the Vatican's current Inner Exorcist Circle. Wrath powered Tsubaki's rituals, and Aoshi knew where that furious rage came from. What powered that awesome rage was sorrow – one that bled from a scar that would be there till the day she died.

It was what kept the priestess human, and it was the one thing that kept her in control and kept her from falling into the waiting arms of the enemy. Aoshi trembled at the thought of Tsubaki falling from grace. Only Wesley or the combined strength of 5 members of the Vatican's Inner Exorcist Circle would be able to take her on in a straight fight.

Aoshi knew that that power and strength of will was what he needed as the promised Time of Judgement drew closer, as the lie woven beneath the shadows of the Golan Heights began to unravel. He could still remembered that accursed place where the Traitor and misled loyalist Paladins had cornered them even as they attempted to complete a mission that was doomed to failure.

In the darkness, he could still remember the tomb-like silence of the Black Cathedral and the statues of fallen angels adorning the niches, their beautiful, arrogant façades glaring down upon the puny race of dust that they had been commanded to serve. He could feel their hate and contempt, their lust and hunger, of and for mankind permeating the citadel of where the Morningstar had led the rebel angels in a rebellion against their Creator.

But all the Vatican had were stories of a fabled era when loyalist and traitor angels shook worlds with each thunderous step, when spirit was set against spirit to decide who will hold sway over all Creation. Even the fabled Lance of Longinus, a holy relic hidden deep in the Vatican's Vault, had not seen those ancient days. The Dawn Breaker, however, was another story. It had seen the glorious days before, during and after the War in Heaven.

A sword forged in the darkness before the first dawn, crafted by inhuman hands. A weapon meant to rend the fabric of reality apart, with power equal to that of the Lance of Longinus. But, unlike the Lance, to wield the Sword of the Adversary demanded that its wielder pay a price. At first, Aoshi had not been certain what that price had been, but after a meeting with Shizuka, a young nun who studied in Kyoto High, he knew that that answer would soon be answered.

Shizuka had informed him that an angel of the Holy Host, and two of the Fallen Legions had come to Kyoto. Whatever their intentions were, Aoshi was certain that those of the latter were up to no good. But the presence of the former was perplexing. Even back then, the loyalist angels rarely, if ever, made an appearance unless the need was truly dire.

But here was the interesting question: Why did the Holy Host send only one of their own? There often worked in pairs, unless the one sent in was a powerful angel. He counted Ruida out, as she had been living in a self-imposed exile for centuries. It was a question that the Dominion would nevertheless be asking herself.

Aoshi stood up. It was time to call in the favours owed him. He had been waiting for this day for a long time. No doubt, even now, the other 2 survivors of the St. Michael Exorcist Team were preparing for a confrontation long overdue. There was a saying that one's sins would one day catch up with the sinner, and that one day, the lies one tells would become the rope in which to hang the liar.

That day was just around the corner.

He gazed at the cross and the small candles that rested on the _kamiza_ – the deity seat – and Aoshi prayed that he would not live to add more candles to it. He was sick of being unable to protect those closest to him. The _shoji_ doors to the dojo slid open, and he was soon regarded by his raven-haired wife. Their eyes met, and she nodded.

"Have you made your decision?" Megumi asked.

Aoshi nodded, "We will play the game. Sitting on the fence is no longer an option."

Megumi smiled.

X X X X X X 

**_Rome, Italy, Castel St. Angelo, 10th September 1999, Friday, 1300 hrs_**

_Castel St. Angelo_, Castle of the Angels, still dominated the panorama of Rome centuries after its construction. Known also as the _Mole Adriana_, the Castle of the Angels was built not as a defensive edifice, but as a tomb for the Emperors of Rome and latter on as the Popes' stronghold-prison in the event that the Vatican fell under siege during the Middle Ages.

Cardinal Wesley, riding a motorcycle, studied the imposing façade of the Castle of the Angels. It had stood firm against time and the elements and stood as a glorious tribute to an age long gone. As he was dressed now, he could easily blend into the crowd, and his priest's collar was well hidden beneath his jacket. Switching off the engine, the Cardinal strode into the fortress where dozens of tourists were milling around, taking pictures and listening to their guides talk.

The life and sounds of people – ordinary people – milling around was something Wesley found comforting. He could almost believe that he was no different from the normal everyday man that walked the street instead of the battle-hardened Inquisitor who crossed swords with the agents and champions of the Adversary. If he talked of his past experiences to the common crowd, they would have written him off as a lunatic.

Who would believe him, anyway?

He himself could hardly believe that he was still standing after it was all said and done. Nevertheless, his experiences made good novel material, and Wesley was looking forward to his book becoming 1st in the New York Times Bestseller list. All he did was add disclaimers, change his name somewhat, and poof! problem solved!

Never mind the furious looks that the current Inquisitor-General was giving him. She knew he was hiding something, but Wesley was not going to give her the pleasure of getting her answers easy. They may be on the same side, but to Wesley, she could be the enemy for all he cared. Bauer was a zealous fanatic. Not even Lisa Randolph, zealous as she had been, had been anything like the current Inquisitor-General.

He wondered if the Conclave had made a mistake in appointing the stern Russian woman as the Inquisitor-General. His name had been submitted for the position, but such was the marked opposition within the Conclave that the Pope had no choice but to install Bauer. Ever since the Dawn Breaker affair close to 20 years ago, they had never trusted him.

_'And how right they are not to trust me,' _Wesley thought, as he pulled out a pipe, stuffed it with herbs, and lit it,_ 'The Year of Fire – the promised Time of Judgement – is almost upon us. Sooner or latter, the lie we made, my friends, will come apart at the seams. We made the greatest gamble in human history – and we will soon see if the dice will fall in Mankind's favour.'_

Will it?

Wesley seriously doubted it. His stepdaughter, Sharon, had told him that enemy activity had stepped up when she returned the day before. They had gone to an out of way town in the Bavarian regions when one of their informants there had called in regarding Fallen activity. And what did they find?

A Balrog – a fallen Artificier – had possessed a young man. And from what Sharon told him, this one had been a high-ranking demon, possibly an Overlord. It had not been easy to banish it back to the Abyss, as the 10-man team had lost 6 of their number doing so. But, Wesley was not interested in the results. He was interested as to how an Overlord managed to crawl its way out of its shit-hole in Hell. The more powerful the demon, the harder it was for it to get out. They can, but they would have to sacrifice a lot of power in order to do so.

And Wesley knew that the upper hierarchies of the fallen angels were loath to come to Earth without a full arsenal at their disposal. Their brethren on Earth posed as much a threat as the daemon-hunters' Jyhad.

But, it was possible. It was possible for those same upper hierarchies of the fallen to tread upon Earth's sacred ground in full, infernal glory. The _Libra Malfeas_ had spoken no less than 3 dozen attempts on their part to cross over, and each time, portents and unnatural events would foreshadow the arrival of these dark champions. Only once during the Dark Ages had the Inquisition failed, and shadowy factions had converged to stop the ritual from succeeding. Both the Inquisition and members of the shadowy faction found themselves facing an angry Baroness and her retinue. The ensuing fight caused an earthquake that was felt for miles around.

Wesley DID NOT want to think about the devastation that could happen should one of the Morningstar's lieutenants or champions cross over. Facing a Duke was bad enough, but facing an Archduke – one of the Devil's inner circle – or the Morningstar in person is a death sentence.

The cardinal looked up to the sky. It may well be unavoidable that a confrontation with the ruler of Hell was in the offing soon. The Dawn Breaker affair had seen to that. But, instead of guaranteeing the First of the Fallen's total victory, it had thrown in an element of unpredictability. The Morningstar may well fail in the attempt to cross over.

But, he had to admit that the margin the Morningstar failing was a slim one.

"Cardinal Wesley?"

Wesley turned to see two men standing several feet from him. Both of them wore trenchcoats over white shirts and blue trousers. He saw the cross and serpent emblem on the cuffs of their coats, and his eyes narrowed.

Order of the Scourge – the silent killers. Put the Mossad with diplomatic backing of the highest order and you got the Order of the Scourge. They were the trackers and the assassins of the Vatican. He didn't like them much, but he respected their intelligence-gathering capabilities. And right now, information was what he sorely needed. There were things he needed to know – badly.

"Did you get the information I asked for, Patrick?"

"Yes, sir."

The man pulled out an envelope from under his coat and handed it to Wesley, "It was problematic getting this out of the Archives. You owe me big for this."

"I know, Pat. Sorry."

Wesley looked inside the folder, pulled out a black book, and nodded, "Keep this quiet, Patrick. That goes double for you, Timothy. This is something I have to do. And don't let the Bitch Queen know."

"I won't. I don't wanna die young."

**X X X X X X**

Wesley looked through the book his contacts had helped smuggle out. It was an old book, copied diligently by the scribes within the Vatican down to the last detail, about an event that had happened a thousand years ago – an event that was perilously similar to the one that was happening now.

It had been the talk of the street several weeks prior when 7 blazing sigils like the halo of angels – seen from space – started appearing throughout the world. Conspiracy theorists, government agencies and UFO fanatics had had a field day and the furor had yet to abate. He trembled. Had Michael Adel been alive, the nerd-warrior of the St. Michael paladins would be foaming at the fangs.

The Oracles of Delphi, the Vatican's seer council, had informed the Pope and the Inner Circle that their dreams held the image of 10 figures, enormous as gods, against the backdrop of the universe. In their midst, a crimson star rained blood upon a dying, burning Earth. And descending from the heart of that crimson star, the Oracles all but glimpsed a figure with horns and 6 black wings, clutching a blazing spear.

It did not help that the Seers of the Stars, the Islamic mullah-seer council, spoke of the same thing. His friend, Speaker-in-Shadows, an American-Indian shaman in the US, spoke of the Dark Spirit's return. His ancestors remembered the event a thousand years ago – and they were not keen at having a re-enactment of that event anytime soon.

Wesley closed the book, sighing, before leaping up and whirling around as one hand went to the heavy pistol hidden beneath his jacket. His eyes narrowed in sudden, violent fury as he scanned the crowd, before they rested on a red-maned woman leaning against the wall next to the entrance. His eyes widened in recognition. There, leaning against the stone wall, clad in a tight racing suit, was an old enemy Wesley would have preferred to not see again.

Even without her white horns and black, feathered wings, Wesley would have recognised those blazing emerald eyes and mocking smile anywhere.

"Cameela…"

The female devil's extraordinary sense of hearing caught his shocked whisper, and that infuriating smile grew wider as she bowed in Wesley's direction before striding forward. She pulled the zip of her racing suit low, eliciting stares and whistles from several tourists and young men. Not low enough to be scandalous, but low enough to cause nosebleeds. Cameela radiated an air of sensuality and danger in equal proportions, and her lean – if not lush – form hid an inhuman strength beyond those of mortal men.

Cameela stopped when she was but 5 feet from Wesley, "It has been a long time, Paladin Wesley…or should I say, Cardinal Wesley. The years have been good to you, I see. Don't worry…I'm not here to start a fight."

Wesley narrowed his eyes and studied the female devil for several moments before finally pulling his hand out of his jacket and sitting back down again. If Cameela were to start a fight here, she would very well have to answer to her superiors. If there was one law agreed upon between the Adversary and his enemies, it was that the Masquerade must be maintained, and woe betide the fool who dared to break it before the Promised Hour.

But there was one question, however, the begged an answer…

"Why are you here, Cameela?" Wesley asked, not caring how the female devil got through the potent wards that protected the Vatican. He kicked himself almost immediately. That had been a stupid question to ask. Wesley knew the reason why. It was the same reason he came here every so often. It made painful memories easier to bear.

Cameela had been Shateiel's lover and companion long before the latter became a Paladin. She had been by his side for almost all the years of his life, carving a swathe through terrorist organisations and toppling drug cartels in a crimson jihad. The Scarlet Angels Special Forces Group they had been part of had been the iron fist of the CIA. Their shared memories and experiences was the one thing that the fallen angel cherished even after they became enemies.

Which was why when Galford ordered Shateiel killed when he realised that the latter was in the possession of the Dawn Breaker, Cameela had set about making sure that Galford had an overdue meeting with the Adversary.

Setting aside her helmet, Cameela sat on the other end of the bench, looking up at the blue skies with an expression that lacked the hate that Wesley was so used to seeing on the faces of the fallen angels. Finally, when she turned to face him, he saw that her expression was no longer playful. This close, he could see the reptilian slits of her emerald eyes that betrayed her true heritage.

"Beyond the obvious reasons as to why I'm here, Wesley, is to tell you some things that you already know. The Promised Day is coming and the clock is counting down. You are no fool. You and the rest of your weakling Church know what will happen at the turn of the millennium, even though the world does not. Our victory is inevitable. I came here not at the behest of my superiors, but of my own personal accord. I want to know if you are going to play this game to its final, futile conclusion, or will you surrender and join us?"

"Join you? Why the hell should I? The Devil has never paid the Black Host ever since the Fall and that bastard's not likely to change policies. Can't say the same for God, but at least His welfare is better. Pass."

"I am offering you a way out, Wesley."

"No. What you're offering me is a way down. After what I've done, I cannot even be certain that there's an 'up' escalator for me anymore."

"That's why I'm offering."

"Cameela, you're not a stupid devil. Ask yourself: Would I really say yes?"

Cameela sniffed, "Not exactly. I had to try."

"Nice try, girl, but no go. I'm stuck way too deep in this to get out. And even if I could, I'd still say no."

"You may not have a choice, come the end. You're caught between a rock and a hard place, Wesley. It won't be long before Bauer and the rest of the Church find out that you have lied to them. Even now, there are a good number within the Vatican's ranks – Bauer among them – who believe that the testimonials you gave in the Conclave almost 20 years ago are false. And you know Bauer is a perceptive woman. The moment she finds out that you _have_ lied to them, you're done for. Bauer will do to you what the torturers of the Underworld can only dream of doing."

Wesley snorted, "Like that surprises me. Bauer has always been a sick bitch, even before she became Inquisitor-General. Bauer is an Ophanim, and the entire Order is _eager _to see the fucking Apocalypse happen. They're not trying to stop it. They're trying to make sure it happens. And with Bauer in charge, she is going to help Lucifer fucking usher it in just so that she can go after the Morningstar. God Above, not even I dare to do what she dares. If she's trying to prove she has a chance in Hell of taking the Morningstar down, she's dreaming."

"Oh, but she can."

Wesley's eyes narrowed.

"Before the Morningstar can stride the world, he needs an Avatar. A Herald, if you will. Bauer is a formidable warrior, and she can easily take down Earth's finest fighters within seconds. She has proven that she can fight the Forsaken and the Kindred single-handedly. A common man will not last a heartbeat."

"You don't mean to say…"

"Exactly. Knock out the Avatar, and the Gates slam shut. Therein lies the heart of the problem. Who is the Avatar? Where is he? How will the Morningstar step into the mortal plane? Through whom will he choose to incarnate himself? There are a dozen possible candidates on Earth, Wesley. The son of Shateiel is among that number. Even I don't know through whom the Morningstar will emerge. The question is what you will do when you do find the Avatar. Will you try to protect him? Or kill him?"

"Why are you telling me this, Cameela? Aren't you afraid that this is an act of treachery on your part?"

"Treachery? Bless me, no. You have played this game for almost 20 years. It will be a pity if you quit while you're still ahead. And believe me, you are ahead of Bauer in the game. But, you'd best be quick, Wesley. Bauer is an intelligent and perceptive woman, and she has the resources that you lack. She may well overtake you before long."

Cameela stood up and swung her helmet over her shoulder, "There is also another reason why I'm telling you this. I loved Shateiel, Wesley. I loved him long before Tsubaki even came into his life. If things had been different, had you not led him into the embrace of your Church, his children would have been mine – and I will surrender them to no one. Not even on pain of Final Death. I'm giving his children a chance I would have given ours, nothing more. It's the least I can do."

Wesley watched the female devil walk away, her mane of soft, blood red hair swaying in the wind.

X X X X X X 

"Do you think he will do it?" Cameela asked the tall, brown-haired figure that leaned against the alleyway several blocks away from the Castle of Angels.

"He will. Wesley is anything but a coward. He has waited close to 20 years for this house of cards to come tumbling down. I don't see a reason to let him wait before it does. Have you seen to it that the package will be delivered to his home?"

"I have."

"Good. This will even out the odds a bit."

"Now what do we do?"

"We have time before the next phase begins. Do what you want."

She grinned, "Do what I want? There's only one thing I want."

"You're incorrigible, Cameela."

"Speak for yourself. Unlike you, I have bound myself to only one person," she chuckled, "_De Soldat_ Hotel, Room 428, 10 tonight. Don't make me come and get you."


	5. Shadows of Fall

_**Chapter 3: Shadows of Fall**_

**_Kyoto City, Japan, September 13th 1999, Wednesday, 0200 hrs_**

Even this late into the night, the city of Kyoto never sleeps. Bars and restaurants open up late into the night, catering to the young and the middle-aged. Men flock to the red-light district to enjoy the carnal pleasures that it offers. For Areil, it was just the right time to have some fun. His striking good looks had won him more than a fair share of admiring looks from the young women that frequented the bars, and more than one had offered to buy him another round of drinks.

Areil was not so impolite as to refuse.

Besides, if you wanted to get into a girl's panties, you might as well get on her good side first. Which was what Areil had been doing for the past two hours. Unlike a great majority of his kind, Areil was not one to toy with his prey. He was not like those who sunk so deep into Torment that they would fuck them and frag them after they were done.

The lucky ones died fast, others died slow.

Besides, Areil found Earth interesting, and a far cry from Hell. Compared to Heaven, it was Hell. But, compared to Hell, it was Heaven. Earth had changed a lot ever since the First Age ended, but there was an echo of that glorious, lost era. But, even so, it was amazing how far the race of dust had come. He could understand why some members of the loyalist Host and the Fallen Legions chose to remain on Earth, neutral to the conflict that still raged between Heaven and Hell.

The fall of the Righteous – the Great War in Heaven – had left a scar in the psyche of man that thousands of years could not heal. It had blasted the entire race of Man back to the Stone Age, and they remembered – even now, though subconsciously – the Paradise they had lost. And so, those neutral angels from both sides – the Choirs of Silence – set about repairing the damage done.

If the world's situation were any indication of their success, Areil would have given the Choir a straight 'F'.

And it wasn't for lack of trying.

One after another, the Ophanim, the Creator's grim Angels of Justice, and the champions of the Fallen Host hunted them one after another. It did not help matters that the Church's Inquisition helped to do the same. Their reasoning had been as simple as it had been brutal: You are either with us, or against us. Neutrality is not an option.

Hunted and hated for doing the right thing – how like Heaven to silence those who do not agree with its fascistic policies. At least Hell never committed murder under the guise of righteousness.

Which was why, to Areil's mind, the Earth should not be the domain of the False God. Man had suffered under His reign, and will continue to do so until eternity itself ended. The finest gift forged by the entire Host at the dawn of Creation at God's behest was now nothing more than frightened, mindless flock that knelt before its own butcher.

Areil remembered the days of the Exile, the day when the unity of Man would forever be shattered. He and his ilk had expected punishment when Michael had defeated them. What they did not expect was that humanity would be punished alongside them as well. Even those who have sided with the Creator found the knife coming in from an angle they least expected it.

After God decreed that the covenant with the Fallen Angels forever broken, He set about demolishing everything that had taken them all eons to build. Everything that had once been made with its opposite in harmony was soon set against it in contention. The entirety of Creation was struck with such force that it left a wound that would never heal, but which would bleed slowly till Doomsday. The ruins that the Fallen would see before an Exile that would last thousands of years was an Eden shattered and cementing a belief that God was nothing less than a hypocritical tyrant that viewed all of Creation as His plaything.

It had left the Fallen Host with no but to dethrone, or kill, the Creator. Here was where the 7 Legions fractured. Here was the reason why Michael and the Holy host were victorious. The Fallen hosts were united in the goal to make God pay for His crimes, but divided in its manner of execution.

Areil and his sister, Lilith, held views that the Morningstar's Archdukes found ridiculous. Mankind was, to the Crimson Legion, a potent weapon that could be used to dethrone the Creator. The Iron Legion – of which Areil was part of – supported the Crimson Legion's doctrines, but the 2 Legions were outnumbered by the other 5 who wanted Mankind wiped clean off Creation, or subjugated and made slaves.

Areil did not want to conjure up the images of what the cruel monsters of the Ebon Legion or the perverse fallen of the Silver Legion were capable of.

It would ruin his night.

"Areil-san? What's wrong?"

The devil snapped out of his train of thought, and turned to look at the 3 women who were sitting with him. He smiled sheepishly, "Sorry. Drifted for a minute there. Won't happen again. Is it all right if I buy us all another round of drinks?"

Their faces lit up.

'_Might as well have fun while it lasts…'_

X X X X X X 

Makoto was dreaming.

He dreamt of happier times.

He dreamt of when he could run free through the fields in Okinawa, laughing happily as he watched flower petals were brought aloft by the strong ocean winds. He remembered his mother, with her mane of long, golden hair, her arms akimbo, her lips pulled into an amused smile. Her lean, athletic form rested on her scrambler.

He remembered his father, likewise resting on his bike, watching him. Makoto could see the quiet smile, even though he could not see his father's blue-grey eyes.

He ran to him, cradling a tiny squirrel in his equally tiny hands.

Makoto smiled in his sleep, and a soft sigh escaped his lips.

A figure stood over him, dressed in a loose nightshirt and panties. She had heard him moaning on her way to the toilet, and had found the window open, letting in the freezing night wind. Saya Mikage frowned. Makoto was not one to forget closing the window prior to falling asleep. The copper-haired woman moved in silently and closed the window, careful not to trip over the books that laid scattered about her nephew's room. She did not want to startle him and risk getting bruises.

Makoto had sharp senses, even when he had been a precocious 6-year old. And no thanks to that _baka_, Aoshi, her nephew had the penchant of sleeping with a _bokken_ in easy reach. More than once, Saya was tempted to smash the Kendo instructor with the nearest fire extinguisher for turning her nephew into a hitokiri out of a nightmare.

Saya pulled the comforter over her nephew, taking the chance to breathe in the scent of him. In sleep, she was surprised how like his father Makoto was. Lacking the longer hair and the hardened, almost cruel, edge to his eyes, he was a sweeter, innocent version of what Reiha Shigami had been. But, his father was in him, all right. Makoto was capable of pushing the right buttons in the same way his father had done with her sister.

Unable to withstand temptation, Saya leaned over to kiss her nephew…and arrested herself inches before she could do so.

No…to even contemplate doing this was wrong. But…

She drew closer…and stopped again.

No…no matter how good the reason, it was still wrong. She did not want to replace to image of her brother-in-law with that of Makoto's. But, why was it so hard to do so? Saya closed her eyes and withdrew, never knowing that a slender figure watched her from the outside with sad – yet understanding – blue eyes.

X X X X X X 

The unfortunate soul that was being stalked knew all too well that there was no one who would hear his scream this far from the city. He leapt through the night air, using his wings and his Disciplines to avoid being seen by any of the race of dust, but he knew that it would not be enough to avoid his pursuer. It would take a miracle to elude his hunter. And with an injuries he sported…it was all but impossible for that miracle to happen.

But he wasn't about to roll over anytime soon! It was a disgrace for one such as he to die in such a fashion against a monkey lover! He gripped the human-crafted heavy pistols in his hands, his eyes searching the darkness for his hunter.

Where was she? Wait! There-!

He fired.

What the-!

He barely had a heartbeat to dodge when a fiery blade sent the upper half of the tree he had been hiding in crashing to the forest floor. He leapt into another tree, pointing his guns at his pursuer, trying to control the stark terror that threatened to overtake him. Not even the Malhim, the Creator's Angels of Vengeance, had unnerved him in the way his stalker had done in the past two hours.

He fired the pistols, only to find that his adversary was no longer there!

By the fist of Abaddon, that Crimson Legion whore was fast! Before his supernatural senses could pinpoint his stalker's location, a soft sinister voice to his right told him that it was already too late.

He had already been cornered.

"Guns against one of our kind, Zaziel? What do they teach you up here?"

Zaziel attempted to get out of the way, but a flaming arc severed his arm, and a blindingly swift counterstroke severed one arm and one wing, sending the fallen angel crashing to the ground.

"You must do it properly," and Zaziel shuddered as his hunter tightened her grip on her blazing sword, "Like so…"

X X X X X X

_**Cardinal Wesley's residence, Vatican City, 2000 hrs, September 12th 1999**_

Cardinal Wesley sat in his private study, staring quietly at the package that had been delivered to his home several hours ago. His retainer and secretary, Rafa El Hassan, handed him another can of cold beer as she sat on the edge of the enormous oak table that had been cleared of everything save the Cardinal's computer and the enormous box that had been delivered to the latter's residence earlier today. All things considered, the two of them needed it – never mind what the Vatican said about its priests remaining sober.

And to the dark-haired Egyptian woman, the Cardinal needed the drink more than she did. He was pale – almost scared – and that was something Rafa was not used to seeing. When men like Cardinal Wesley got nervous, it was always with good reason. The enemies the Cardinal had were powerful, and had plenty of pawns to use in their shadowy war against the Church. Rafa had encountered one of them when she and her 'family' of 8 had been living on the streets of Cairo – and that one had been a blood-sucking Kindred of some status in the Egyptian mafia. But, it wasn't her master's supernatural enemies that worried her, however. It was the human ones he had.

Whether they were in service to the countries or organisations they served, or to the dark powers, Rafa and the Cardinal's Silent Throne Exorcist Team have either captured or killed each one. But, the worst enemy was the one you were not able to touch, and foremost amongst these was the Inquisitor-General Bauer von Kierstland. Of all of the Cardinal's enemies, she was the most dangerous. It was not so much her political power that was frightening, but her fanaticism.

It was the one reason why Rafa and her 'family' were all trained in martial arts and the use of firearms, and carried wards on their persons to allow them to resist the effects of mental and emotional Disciplines that might put their master in danger.

And if the pensive look on his face said anything, it may be that he was already in danger. He had been for a very long time. The package he had just received may well be the final nail in the coffin. The Cardinal's scarlet eyes turned to the box that rested on his table. Almost 7 feet long and a foot and a half wide, it had taken two men to carry into his private study. The heavy box bore hexagrammic seals and protective wards that told Rafa that whatever was in the box was not something that could be purchased at a souvenir shop. Standing up, he placed a hand over the ward-inscribed lock, and closed his eyes for several minutes.

The locks that sealed the box snapped open one after the other.

"Rafa, draw the curtains and push the 2nd button beneath my desk."

The Egyptian woman quickly obeyed. Whatever it was, the Cardinal wanted complete and utter privacy. He didn't want to risk anyone knowing what was inside the box. When it was done, Rafa rejoined her master.

Wesley's eyes were haunted, but determined, _'I have always feared the day when my sins would catch up with me and that the price would be greater than I can bear. And the greater the sin, the heavier the punishment. We made a gamble, that day. The greatest gamble in human history, where we put the fate of our flawed race on the line. Was it worth it, Silvana? Did we – I – do the right thing?'_

His eyes went to the portrait that hung above the fireplace. They were all there. Drawn from memory, but nonetheless perfect down to the last detail. He could have pursued a career as an artist, but it was 20 years too late to change anything at all.

Richard and Silvana Sanders smiled out of a portrait, surrounded by the children of the orphanage.

Michael Adel and Rabbi Aziel Helmraz stood next to Raphael Carleon and Ezekiel Rage, both of whom were grinning like idiots.

The aged Hayami Inazuki stood next to a younger version of him.

The stern face of Lisa Randolph was matched only by the playful look on the young features of Huimin Chen.

The roguish Randall Masters stood next to Rolf Galahad, who had one hand rested on his ever-present longsword.

The two other survivors of the Dawn Breaker affair – beautiful, silver-haired Tsubaki and the stern, blue-eyed Aoshi Shinomori – stood on a rock. The former was drinking sake, and the latter leaned against the rock, eyes closed, but smiling nonetheless. The last member of the now-extinct St. Michael Exorcist team stood behind the silver-haired _miko_, his eyes gazing up upon the starlit Heaven. Behind him, her back to Shateiel, was the crimson-maned, black-winged Cameela, her arms akimbo. He had drawn the beautiful female devil on a whim, but found it fitting that the rebel angel stood beside his friend. Cameela had a place in Shateiel's life, as did Tsubaki.

Just like dear Silvana had a place in his.

_'We can but make our own justice…'_

Wesley repeated those words, and opened the box. His eyes widened in awe and recognition as he stared at the twin-pronged bastard sword that rested within.

"Runefang," he whispered in awe, "How in God's holy name…"

Rafa felt her jaw hit the ground. She had heard stories of the Runefangs, but she had never ever seen one. Forged by a master blacksmith and blessed by pious priests of the 3 major religions, the Runefangs were potent weapons that had been the bane of every creature whose existence was a blasphemy to God. All 12 swords had, however, either been destroyed or lost in the centuries since their creation. The Vatican had managed to reclaim only 3 of the 12 sacred weapons, and these were kept in the Sacred Armoury deep beneath the Vatican. Only in the direst circumstances would they be drawn – and if 1 of the 9 lost Runefangs was already in his hands, it was a clear indication that things were about to get a whole lot worse.

Especially when the Runefang that was within the box was the First Runefang, Carsomyr. Wesley traced the runes inscribed on the blade, sensing the terrible power that its creators had imbued it with. He saw his entire life looking back at him in its polished surface, whispering back to him from the blade's depths.

Every decision he had made then had finally would culminate in a confrontation. But a confrontation with whom, he did not know. But he knew one thing. He could not turn back. To do so now would stain his hands with the blood of those who had given their lives to safeguard his. And besides, he did not want to turn back. It was time to balance the books.

Wesley turned to his retainer, "Rafa…inform our allies – all of them – that Operation Savior is to begin effective immediately. Ready my private jet. We will be heading to America in 2 hours."

"But why there?"

"Because there is someone there who can help us locate the 12 Avatars. I want to get to them before Bauer does, and I'm not about to pull the punches doing so. This is a battle that I may very well lose, but I'm not about to back off and let the other Cardinals and Archbishops have their way. You were there in Conclave, Rafa. You know what they're planning to do. Are you going to let what is about to happen, happen?"

"No, I won't. But please consider this, Master Wesley. What if they are right? What if those Avatars are not innocent as you think they are?"

Wesley was unable to answer.

"Will **_you_** be able to kill them?"

X X X X X X 

**_Kyoto Special Operations Command HQ, Wednesday, 13th September 1999, 1215 hrs_**

Katsuragi Misato, commanding officer of the 4th Special-Ops squad, could not help but burp contentedly, much to the amusement of her colleagues. Lunch had been satisfying and, considering that Shinji had cooked it, filling. She chuckled, remembering the embarrassed flush of the 15-year old teenager who had come into her life just a year prior. Shy, insecure, yet gentle, Shinji Ikari was a sharp contrast to his father.

How someone as gentle as Shinji could be spawned by a monster like Ikari Gendo was just plain hard to believe. Shinji was everything his father was not. While the former yearned to be someone who could contribute to society, the other was nothing more than a blight on it. His father had abandoned him at a tender age of 3, a testament to the ruthlessness of the crime lord, who would not allow anything to get in the way of his ambition,

Anyone that did – man, woman or child – would sooner or latter find him or herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

And Gendo had the resources to buy the services of some of the world's best assassins if he chose not to dirty his hands. He had dealt with countless rivals that way – and intimidated all the rest into either joining him or remaining neutral in his private war with the Italian Mafia.

The latter had attempted to gain leverage by kidnapping his son, but Misato had gotten to him first. She had spirited him to Japan from Italy so as to allow him to start a new life. It had been dangerous, and she could not help but giggle at the hijinks that plagued them even as they tried to escape the mafia.

Despite the shadow of Gendo Ikari hanging ever prevalent over their heads, despite the nightmares that plagued her dreams, life was good. Shinji had friends aplenty in Kyoto High, despite his introverted and shy nature. The fact that he was an excellent cook endeared him to many of his classmates who were as addicted to his cooking as junkies were to heroin.

Misato's past experience in America's SWAT team had allowed her to find easy employment in Japan's SOC police corps. When Misato first took over the 4th squad's old commander, Kyoto had been relatively peaceful. But, with the coming turn of the millennium, the responsibilities had been piling up. Kyoto, like every other major city in Japan – or the world, for that matter – was planning to have a Millennium celebration. And pressure was coming down on the Kyoto police force from both the public and the mayor's office to apprehend the Kiyamachi Slayer before it began.

Misato popped the tab on her beer, and took slow sips.

The problem with apprehending the Kiyamachi murderer was that it was akin to catching smoke. Damn it, catching smoke would have been **_easier_**! No one was closer to even _putting_ a face to him (or her), or what manner of weapon he/she used on his/her victims. And that was plain spooky, to Misato's point of view. Even the best slipped up somewhere, and that was often more than enough to put the police on the criminal's back.

Misato had seen the pictures of the Slayer's victims, and she had to agree with the forensic report that no _human_ hand could have done that much damage. The bodies looked at though they had been shoved into a meat grinder. What was left was barely enough to identify the poor bastard who trod on the wrong toes.

Running feet from outside the squad's mess-room snapped Misato out of her thoughts. 12 heads turned to the door, which was flung open by Sergeant Mariko of the station's Ops Room.

The pale look on his face told Misato that something bad has happened.

"Misato-san…there's been another killing. Outside Kyoto."

The beer can she had been holding crashed to the floor.

**X X X X X X**

Misato had had a bad feeling that what she was going to see was going to be as bloody as the previous 4 murders. She was not disappointed. Her teammates were already securing the entire perimeter. She could see why 2 entire squads of Special Ops troopers were deployed to the site. The place looked like a war-zone. A hiking team out of Shinzui High had stumbled upon one very charred patch of forest – and one very torn up corpse. Their teacher had immediately called in the police, saying that the Kiyamachi Slayer may have struck outside of his regular hunting grounds.

And how right he was.

The same claw marks.

The _same_ modus operanti.

The same everything.

The only difference was that the corpse was barely identifiable. The Kiyamachi Slayer had left his previous victims in a state that at least allowed identification. This one was a practical goner. Not even the pros at Forensics would be able to piece the pieces back together. If the human ruin before her was any evidence, Misato would have said that the Slayer was in a very bad mood.

The purple-haired commander was baffled. Killers like the Kiyamachi Slayer followed a standard pattern and, like the Shinzui High teacher had suggested, rarely struck outside of their regular hunting grounds. This was definitely not normal behavior, as far as Misato was concerned. The Kiyamachi Slayer was a sociopath, and that means that killers like them rarely, if ever, deviated from their chosen choice of prey or territory.

Could there possibly be more than one Kiyamachi Slayer?

Misato frowned as she ran one gloved hand on one of the trees that had been cut in half. It was a frightening possibility. From what little the police knew about the Kiyamachi Slayer, they managed to piece out one undeniable fact: the Slayer was hunting the corrupt on a vengeful crusade.

The question was why. Did those 4 completely unrelated people have something to do with the Slayer?

Big, fat No.

Each of them was a stranger to the other. Besides, Misato knew – and hated – one of them. That he had died had caused much quiet applause within the police force as a whole. The worse thing than a crooked cop was a crooked cop who was so high up that charging him for his predilections was suicide in more ways than one.

Chief Superintendent Omura Inui was one such bastard. Arrogant, perverse and self-serving, Omura was not the sort to lower himself to the level of those he considered his social inferiors. How he managed to enter the police force and rise so swiftly in its ranks was something many would debate out of his hearing. The rumor mill within the force was rife with Omura's vices – one of which involved his liking for high school girls. That rumor was confirmed when a family brought charges against him for drugging and raping their daughter. The controversial court case had ended in the verdict being overturned in Omura's favour.

The girl had hung herself 3 months later, unable to bear with the social stigma.

Not only that, the rumor mill also spoke of Omura's underground dealings with the Yakuza and the Chinese Underworld. He had covertly supported their operations in Japan in return for bribes, influence and privileges. His presence had been the fulcrum that kept the rival underworld groups from going to war. When he died, Misato's street contacts had informed her that relations between the triads were slowly deteriorating. There was a high possibility of a gang war erupting.

Nevertheless, the dozens that Omura had wronged were glad that retribution had finally caught up with him. How he died, no one knew, and the high school girl that he had 'helped' to his hotel room had been out cold when he had been cut to pieces. Upon questioning, the staff and the occupants of adjoining rooms had told the police that they had neither seen nor heard anything strange. Security cameras positioned in the area had backed up their claims.

It was something that had left Investigation and Forensics up in knots. How the hell did Omura's killer get to him? Or got into the room in the first place? Omura's suede had been facing the swimming pool, so there was no way his murderer could have scaled that side of the building without being seen. He could not have gone in through the door – there would have been fingerprints left behind.

And there was no chance in Hell that the girl he had been planning to fuck could have killed him. She was out so cold that it would have taken a nuclear explosion to wake her up. And the girl could not possibly have had the strength to hang his crushed body from the fan – or cause those injuries, for that matter!

What kind of person could elude Omura's trained bodyguards, the hotel's top-rate security cameras, and kill him without anyone hearing or seeing him? Misato did not know, but she had seen enough to know that whatever the hell had done this was most definitely not human. Her family had stories gathered through the centuries of such occurrences. How she wished she didn't have to find out that the horror stories that her grandparents used to tell were real.

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto High School, Wednesday, 13th September 1999, 1330 hrs**_

Makoto knew he was in for it the moment he had met Hiromaru-sensei that morning. With the National Kendo Tournament round the corner, it was clear that the school's Kendo teacher was making last-minute plans to prepare the school team for it. And knowing Hiromaru-sensei, that would mean a tougher training regime. He groaned inwardly. He felt so sore and tired lately…

"You look tired, Kusakabe-kun."

Makoto turned around to see Sophia standing next to him. She was holding a tray full of food.

"May I sit?"

"It's a free country, Sophia-san," he smiled, "But be my guest, all the same."

Sophia chuckled and sat facing him, "Where are Tokiya-san and Shinichi-san, Makoto-kun?"

"Tokiya is having a Student Rep Council Meeting. The Autumn Festival is only 10 days away, and they're rushing to put it all together before then. As for my cousin…well…I think he's hiding somewhere safe."

"From the girls?"

Makoto nodded, "He's thankful that you and Lilith-san are not among them. Trust me when I say that I've had to help him escape their clutches more than once…and paid the price for it."

Sophia laughed, then, "I've heard the stories."

Makoto flushed, and his eyes widened when he saw a playful look in the German girl's sapphire eyes, "Including that one?"

The German girl's sky blue eyes twinkled.

"I'm going to kill Tokiya for this…" Makoto swore.

That was the one story Makoto didn't want spreading throughout the entire school population. The last time he had helped Shinichi, the girls of the swim team had jumped him, stripped him down to his underwear and left his uniform in various sections of the school. The only good thing to come out of the whole affair was that none of those girls had seen his back.

Even his steel-nerved cousin, Kasumi, had turned pale when she saw the horrific scars there. Makoto was downright shy about letting anyone save his closest friends know about what the Mikage family patriarch had done to him. He was more than willing to let this sleeping dog lie, though if the Mikage family prodded this hornet's nest, they had better be willing to face the consequences.

Nonetheless, he chuckled and rubbed his head ruefully at the German girl. Nothing of what happened in his past was anyone's fault.

"Are you settling down comfortably, Sophia-san?" Makoto asked.

"Yes, thank you. I have to admit that many of your schoolmates are quite friendly, Makoto-san. Some have been trying to…hit it off with me for quite some time now."

"They have?"

"Uh hmm. The most persistent one has been a Mikage Sahaka."

The chopsticks that Makoto was holding snapped. It was a crack thunderous enough to make the occupants around him fall silent and stare at him as though he had grown horns and flaming wings. Even Sophia was staring at him.

"Makoto? What's wrong?"

Makoto quickly suppressed his rage before it erupted into an out-of-control conflagration. It wasn't easy. For as long as he could remember, he and Sahaka had been bitter adversaries. It was an enmity that was embittered further when Makoto's first love, Ruri, had been expelled from Kyoto High after Sahaka got her pregnant. Her family had moved out of Kyoto after that incident, and Makoto had seen her off. Ruri had kissed him one last time, and walked out of his life.

He didn't want that happening to another girl. Nobody deserved to go through the pain that Ruri had had to go through.

"Makoto? What's wrong?"

Makoto quickly pasted a fake smile on his face, "Sorry…I…uh…"

Wonderful time for the cat to run off with his tongue!

Sophia reached out and put her hand on his. Makoto felt his fury evaporate almost immediately in Sophia's presence. A quiet blush crept up his face as she leaned over the table. The warm intensity of her blue eyes spoke quietly of her appreciation that he cared.

"You need not worry, Makoto-kun. Thank you for caring."

Makoto could only nod as the German _fraulein _withdrew. She clapped her hands in prayer, before she dug in, "You could, however, tell me more about the school clubs, though. I've been having many offers this past week. They all interest me…but what do you recommend?"

X X X X X X 

Elsewhere in the school, Lilith had the distinct displeasure of crossing paths with Sahaka Mikage. Even before they had met, she had heard stories of the young man's exploits. He had been retained twice when he should already have graduated. He had a list of discipline problems longer than his arm. He had been arrested more than a dozen times for getting involved in riots and fights, among other things, but had walked away from ever charge leveled against him due to his family's connections.

Lilith could see in Sahaka the combination of warrior and leader – attributes that came from him being the captain of the school's football team and the scion of an immensely wealthy family. Sahaka Mikage would have been a worthy addition to the cult of any Fallen, with the resources and social connections at his fingertips. A grand majority of her kind would not let such an opportunity pass them by; it was a chance to solidify and strengthen their power-base.

But, Lilith, frankly, would not have given Sahaka the time of day. There was a quality that the Fallen desired from the souls of Mankind, and above wealth and material power, it was the richness of the spirit that God granted upon conception. How brightly or how dimly it burned was up to the individual, and it was this that the Fallen thirsted for ever since God exiled them from Heaven and denied them His blessing.

Lilith could see that the lean, dark-haired student was almost spiritually bankrupt. The glow of his soul was so dim that even had made a pact with him, she would barely be able to power any but her simplest evocations. Even his friends – 2 guys and 4 girls– had souls brighter than his.

Lilith's crimson eyes landed upon the cross that rested over Sahaka's bared chest, and she had to fight down a sneer. The cross resting there was just an ornament. In the hands of the faithful, it was a potent symbol of power and a weapon that could cause grievous harm to her kind. In the hands of the monkey before her, it was as good as two fingers crossed together. She had seen his kind far too often.Materialistic and hedonistic, Sahaka was the poster boy of a generation that cared only for itself.

Oh, there was strength and determination in him. Fortitude was the one and only virtue he shared with Makoto. Sahaka was driven by his dream of becoming the David Beckham of the future; Makoto, on the other hand, was determined to be the man his father was. Lilith could not help but smile inwardly. If only Makoto knew the man his father had been before he had met Shihana…

Lilith wasn't going to tell him that his father had been a killer; an Angel of Wrath whose blazing sword had brought cold justice to any that had dared to stand in his way. She was not going to destroy the memory of a gentle, quiet man with a streak of defiance a mile wide in Makoto's memory, even if it was but a façade for a man who could have been the one of the Crimson Legion's mortal generals on Earth.

An enemy Shateiel may have been, but heaping insults upon an adversary who has proved his mettle time and time again went against everything the Crimson Legion stood for. And, honestly, Lilith didn't want to tempt the wrath of one of her Housemates by doing so should the latter get to hear of it.

Of course, heaping insults or beating this walking piece of shit within an inch of his life was another story. Doing so, however, would not exactly endear her to the rest of the student body and Lilith wanted to maintain a good reputation. She had her pride, after all. But, it would be in her best interests to keep this encounter short before she lost control. Lilith could feel the thunderous wrath of her Torment creeping into her soul, and the urge to disembowel the fool before her was becoming hard to ignore.

Sahaka, on the other hand, unaware that the girl he was admiring was contemplating murder, whistled appreciatively at the sight before him. Some of his schoolmates had informed him that the 2 new girls that had come to Kyoto High several days prior had been knockouts and, boy, were they right! They had the looks, and they had the bodies to go with it. Oh yeah…they'll give Misato-san, that oh-so-hot guardian of that wimp, Shinji Ikari, a run for her money in every department.

He had fantasized many times about banging the purple-haired goddess hard and fast, in every conceivable fashion, but those images faded in the presence of one golden-haired angel and one silver-amethyst haired temptress. Sahaka knew that the former – Sophia, if he remembered correctly – was a virgin, meaning that he would be the first guy to pop her cherry. An enjoyable thought, and he knew how to make the first-timers come back for more.

Maybe he'll let the other guys have their turn when he was done.

But, Sahaka did not plan on sharing Lilith. There was a predatory grace and strength in her that reminded Sahaka of a wolf on the prowl. Why should a guy like him with the money, the looks, the physique and the flair not get the best girl? He was a son of the Mikage family, they who had held Japan together in the most turbulent years of her history and who stood amongst her elite. In short, he was the alpha male in the prefecture, if not the nation. And what he lacked was an alpha female.

And, he had to admit that simply looking at Lilith made him hard, even though he had just finished banging one of his female gang members seven ways to Sunday just 3 hours before. Said girl, Hisae, was glaring at Lilith in open hostility.

She had disliked Sophia, but her dark eyes blazed with hate and jealousy when it came to Lilith. The German girl's crimson eyes disturbed her. She saw that there was absolutely no fear in them, and there was a confidence bordering on arrogance in her demeanor that caused Hisae's temperature to soar sky-high. She and her girls would have a 'talk' with this _gaijin_ bitch – and maybe Sophia – when the time came.

"So…can I interest you in a drink, Lilith-chan?" Sahaka finally spoke, "We can get to know each other better and I can show you around Kyoto. There are some places that you haven't seen, and some of those are best seen at nighttime."

Lilith raised an eyebrow_, 'Fool. Your aura tells me all I need to know. You have more in your mind than just a simple drink. You may be able to cozen women into your bed with a flick of your royal little finger, Sahaka, but I am no whore.'_ "I think I'll pass, Sahaka-san. The nights are not as safe as they used to be."

"Are you afraid of the Kiyamachi Slayer?"

"So what if I am? I would be stupid not to be." _'Idiots…'_

"Then," he smiled, "you don't have to be afraid. My friends and I will protect you."

Lilith chuckled throatily, "Really? I doubt it. Besides, you and your friends will need more than switchblades in order to take the Slayer down."

The shock in the eyes of Sahaka and his coterie almost had Lilith exploding in laughter. They masked it swiftly, but it was clear to them that Lilith had seen the startled expressions on their faces. How the hell did she know?

"Your reputation for being a troublemaker is legendary, Sahaka," Lilith added, "There is no one in the district that does not know your name. From the shopkeepers down to the street gangs…and yes, even the police on their rounds speak of you. As to how I know the details? If one listens, one learns a lot. You are, from what I hear and gather, a good fighter. Anyone that messes with you and your gang pays for it."

"Damn straight," Sahaka beamed immediately. Even his friends were pleased at the thought of them being known – and feared – in the area.

"But, tell me, Mikage-san…what is the point? You have acquired nothing save a reputation – and not a good one at that – and hollow victories. Is it any wonder that your very name is a disgrace to the Mikage family?"

"What did you say?" Sahaka had started to turn purple.

"I did not say those words, Sahaka Mikage. If you care to open your ears and listen, you will see who you really are, not as what you portray yourself to be."

'_You are a dog masquerading as a man, Sahaka. The man I want is a wolf trying to be what he can never be.'_

Lilith stepped gracefully around Sahaka, meeting his green eyes with her crimson ones briefly, "But, you are not without your virtues. The reason why your family still tolerates your…predilections is because they see that you are not beyond redemption. You can be a King amongst men, Sahaka. You have all the attributes of one capable of ruling others. They tell me that you are an excellent football captain, that you have the dream of becoming the David Beckham of Japan. But is that all you want? Or do you want something more?"

She walked away, smiling smugly.

_'But, as will all kings, you have one attribute that has killed many. Let us see if it will be your downfall. Do drag your insipid family down with you as well, Mikage-san.'_

**X X X X X X**

Makoto groaned in pain as he stared at the list Kasumi had put into his hands for the forthcoming Autumn Festival. Did he step on some devil's tail or give some god the finger to deserve this? What was on that list alone guaranteed that he was not going to have even the weekend open for training! Aoshi-sensei would most definitely not be happy.

Well…on the bright side, at least he had a legal excuse to take a short break from kendo. It would be nice to spend the weekend with his schoolmates. His hand-pone suddenly started to ring. Makoto saw who it was and quickly answered it.

"_Hai, _Aoshi-sensei?"

"Makoto," came his teacher's cool voice, "your lessons with me are cancelled until further notice. You will, however, continue training. I have given Hiromaru-sensei permission to use my dojo until I return from overseas. I have left some of my personal belongings and books in your aunt's care. You may look through them if you wish."

'_Huh? Aoshi-sensei is going overseas? That's rare…' _

"Understood, sensei."

"Makoto…I apologise for leaving on such a short notice, but I have some personal affairs that require my attention. I have to go now, but there is one more thing I need to say – and I will say this as a friend than as your teacher. Be careful, Makoto-kun. There may be some truth in the stories your father used to write."

_'Huh?'_

"There are some battles only you can fight, Makoto, but I know you will prevail. I've done all that I can this past decade, and I pray that it is enough. My old teacher used to ask your father and me if we were willing to pay the price that came to winning to laurel. Your father had proven that he had been willing to pay the price demanded. I can only hope I can do the same. I will see you again on the New Year celebration."

Makoto did not know what had gotten into his kendo sensei of 10 years. Rare were the times he was ever this talkative. Rarer still were the times he ever spoke about his father. It was clear, however, that something in Aoshi-sensei's past haunted him, demanding that he right a wrong before it was too late to do so.

"I understand, sensei. Have a good trip. Oh…and give Megumi-san my regards."

"I will." And Aoshi hung up.

Makoto stared at his hand-phone, wondering what was wrong with Aoshi-sensei. Whatever it was, it was clearly serious – but not beyond his ability to solve. He smiled. Why was he worrying? Aoshi-sensei and Megumi-san were both people who were capable of taking care of themselves. He locked both his hands and stretched backward, only to find that his hands were but inches from touching Lilith's breasts. She smiled at him in genuine amusement, and her crimson eyes were bright with laughter. Makoto quickly retracted his hands.

"Lilith-san, wh-what are you doing here?" he asked, trying to regain his composure.

"Looking for you. I was hoping I could have a word with you without you molesting me."

Makoto reddened in embarrassment. Several girls who had heard Lilith's words giggled, while a few boys stared at him in open jealousy. Enjoying his discomfiture, Lilith walked past him and occupied the seat that Sophia had occupied only minutes before.

"We don't have much time."

"I know, Makoto-kun, so I'll keep this short," and pulled a letter out of her blazer, "This is my letter of introduction from my kendo sensei in Berlin. I was supposed to hand it to Hiromaru-sensei or Kasumi-san when I first came to Kyoto High, but it somewhat slipped my mind in the middle of my settling in."

Makoto could not help but shiver as the image of a grinning Lilith beating him senseless. Damn it…why was it that he always attracted the dangerous ones anyway? His aunt, Saori-sensei, his cousin Kasumi, his childhood friend Tokiya…Good God, the line of people wanting to chop his head off was growing longer, not shorter!

"Please have mercy on me."

The German girl chuckled and leaned in closer, "No chance. Besides, if you satisfy me…I can most certainly do the same."

Makoto was forced to fight off a nosebleed.

X X X X X X 

**_Kamigari Shrine, Sendai, Thursday, 14th September 1999, 2300 hrs_**

The Kamigari Shrine in Sendai had been the property of the Katsuragi family for over a thousand years, and had stood firm throughout Japan's most turbulent eras and disasters. But, now, for the first time, the High Priestess of the Shrine, Tsubaki Katsuragi wondered if it could survive the coming storm that was on the horizon. It had been growing stronger ever since the Dawn Breaker affair close to 22 years ago, and had reached a fever pitch when Shateiel and his wife died in an accident that had left their son an orphan.

Divinations made 2 weeks ago revealed that the endgame was in motion, a fact further reinforced when her old comrade, Aoshi, dropped by the shrine a two days prior to ask her for a favour before leaving for the United States the very next day. Aoshi had been responsible for watching over Shateiel's son ever since the accident, and protecting both him and the artifact that the boy believed was a family heirloom.

With him being forced to leave the country, the boy was unguarded, and it was clear that Aoshi wanted her to take over while his back was turned. Tsubaki looked at the picture of a 16-year old boy with dark brown hair and pale blue-grey eyes that was clipped to several documents that Aoshi's wife, Megumi, had given to her prior to their departure.

_'So. This is Kusakabe Makoto, ne? He has his father's smile,' _Tsubaki thought, remembering the amber pupils and dark hair of a man who had been both lover and comrade. No doubt, Shateiel had used his powers – and that of the Dawn Breaker's – to alter his physical appearance so as to allow him to better elude his pursuers. Favours owned him by those with influence saw to it that his hunters ended up chasing a shadow.

He had come here, she knew, to the Kamigari Shrine when he first came to Japan. Her family told her that much. He had come, neither to see her nor to fulfil the promise they had made when the Order of St. Michael was still whole, but to say the goodbye he never got to say when they parted ways in Israel. He had left her his robes…and a relic that would have caused the Vatican to come after her if they realised what it was she had in her possession. Resting in a box warded to prevent any creature from sensing its magical emanations was an ornate, 5-_shaku_, ruby-bladed katana. She knew the weapon, having seen it before in different forms, but never would she have thought that she would end up receiving one.

A Hellfire Sword – a demonic blade – rested within. A sword that had once been wielded by her beloved and surrendered to her family in preparation for a war that he knew would come eventually. But where in the name of her ancestors did Shateiel acquire such a weapon? Only the mightiest champions of the Fallen host possessed such artifacts! To think that he had crossed over was unthinkable. He had enemies aplenty amongst the black hosts who wanted him dead more than they wanted him on their side. The only person who would give him such a weapon was _her _– Cameela of the Blazing Sword.

Tsubaki's single eye narrowed at the memory of the seductive, red-maned female devil. The priestess was jealous of the fact that Cameela had been Shateiel's lover and companion long before the last ever became a paladin, and the female devil was ever swift to point out that fact. But, despite their bitter enmity, Tsubaki acknowledged the fact that Cameela had forged Shateiel into a man that knew how to be one.

From the moment Cameela took Shateiel's small hand into hers and strode by his side as his 'elder sister', the rebel angel had seen to it that her charge would be no different from the mortal champions of the Crimson Legion. The silver-haired priestess found it endlessly ironic that a rebel angel could do what human society had proven itself incapable of doing.

Life can be – and often is – full of such ironies. The picture she was looking at reminded her all too much of that maxim.

If she had chosen differently that day 20 years ago, the picture of the boy she was looking at could have been her son instead of Kusakabe Shihana's. She turned to another page, and looked at the clipped picture of a golden-haired beauty clad in a biker suit with a two-piece swimsuit beneath, smiling and laughing with her friends. There was a fire in the young woman's amethyst eyes and a passion in her smile that was matched only be her zest for life.

Tsubaki had never felt more envious in her entire life than that very moment. The free-spirited Shihana had given Shateiel the one thing she – a mighty miko – could never give him: children. A near-fatal injury had rendered her incapable of giving birth. Though it had never been an issue in their relationship, it was something that Tsubaki had been unable to avoid thinking about.

She flipped to the next page, staring at the love lost to her. How different he was from the image she kept treasured in her memories. Shoulder length brown hair tied in a ponytail had replaced the long, obsidian locks and the predatory amber eyes were given over to warm, blue-grey ones. Her eyes clouded over as memories of the past returned to her. Memories that were forever shadowed by enormous, black, blood-drenched wings spread thunderously as though to eclipse the sun and lit by the halo of a glorious eclipse.

And in that memory, she remembered Randall's words to her after he saw the powers Shateiel had fought so hard to keep secret.

_'He who sleep with devils never rise from that bed unsullied. In Shateiel's case, he did not only screw that bitch devil beyond counting, but he's almost like her! And no matter what, a tiger can never change the fact that he is one!'_

How wrong Randall was. When he had been alive, the neighbourhood Shateiel – or Reiha Shigami as he had been known – lived in loved him. The gentleness of spirit and his love of work endeared him to practically everyone, and children had dropped by his workplace in hopes of hearing his excellent stories or to obtain advice. Attributes that had been nurtured during his time as a warrior of God shone through, bringing in harmony the dark power of a man chosen to be a champion to one of Hell's dread generals.

But, even so, the Beast that had made Shateiel so dangerous still lurked beneath. Aoshi had told Tsubaki that those foolish few that had dared rouse him to ire would find much cause to regret their decision. The worst case of Shateiel snapping had been when a triad who had been abducting women to sell overseas as prostitutes had kidnapped Shihana, at the recommendation of one of her enemies from a rival gang.

Tsubaki trembled, remembering that fateful night when she had almost been raped. She remembered all too clearly the image of Shateiel completely overtaken by the Beast within him. Even against the enemies of the Church, Shateiel had been reluctant to unchain the monster slumbering deep inside his soul, preferring to rely on his fighting abilities and his near-invincible strength of will to subdue his enemies.

However, when those chains snapped, all bets were off. Fallen angels were barely able to stop a berserk Shateiel; humans did not stand a ghost of a chance. What the police were incapable of doing, Shateiel did in the space of 5 days. The Red Lotus Triad – the gang that had kidnapped Shihana – was totally destroyed. Anyone and everyone linked to the Chinese triad had been killed in cold blood. The only survivor that Shateiel had left alive had been the triad's leader – and that one was spending the rest of his life in an asylum, a screaming, terrified wreck.

But the thought of his son inheriting the Beast from his father was even more so – especially when it was coupled with the possible curse that the Sword of Lucifer had imposed upon the Spiritblade bloodline. No one knew what form the second curse would take, but none disputed the fact that it would be a potent one.

Amongst the many factions who wanted to find out what form the Second Curse would take was the Vatican Inquisition. The Cardinals of the Inner Council and the Inquisitor-General of the Vatican, she knew, wanted the Dawn Breaker for a reason other than denying the Church's most ancient enemy a chance to cross over. But why, she did not know.

Whatever it was, she hoped that Wesley and Aoshi would find out soon. Time was running out. If, for whatever reason, they lost Makoto to their enemies without finding a way to thwart them, their failure would be beyond damning. They would have failed their lost compatriot at a time when he would have needed them most.

Tsubaki slid the folder back into the drawer of her worktable before heading for main courtyard to clear her thoughts, the sheathed Hellfire Sword in one hand. There was no one there but the soft whisper of the wind that blew through the trees. She came to a stop before the koi pond, gazing at its clear surface that reflected the moon and the stars that hung high in the heavens. Sakura petals wafted down, bringing with them the sweet scent of cherry blossoms. She had dreamt, oh so many times, that she would not stand at this koi pond alone. That he would be there with her, holding her in his strong arms.

Tsubaki stared at her reflection. Gone was the unmarred, beautiful façade of the Snow Princess of the St. Michael Paladins. In its place was a scarred, one-armed, stern-looking priestess whose one single silver eye peered out from beneath silvery bangs.

Even if alive, would he even look at her?

_'Scarred or no, Tsubaki-chan, you will always be beautiful in my eyes.'_

The High Priestess suddenly whirled, her right hand drawing the katana that was on her person in a motion that was blinding in its speed. Sakura petals that had been wafting down softly were suddenly cut in half before erupting into flames before their ashes were carried away by the wind.

_'But, you are no longer here, are you, anata?' _she thought sadly as she gazed at the ruby-bladed katana, _'And we are about to pay the price for our actions all those years ago. Did we do the right thing by sacrificing you? Did we, by not taking the Dawn Breaker to the Vatican to be sealed, hasten the End?'_

She sheathed the Hellfire sword in a single, smooth motion.

_'No. It would have come eventually. This is a war. The forces of Yomi-Wan gather for the killing stroke before they storm the Heavens above. The 5th Age is about to give way to the 6th, and if the Dark Ones have their way, the wheel will not turn to the 7th – they will make sure of that. But, in this final battle that determines the outcome of the war, the rules that we have long followed no longer apply. We are already in the dark.'_

A soft chuckle in her memory, and that same warm voice echoed in her mind, _"If you are already in the dark, Tsubaki-chan, then all that is left is to make your own light."_

_'But what if the path cannot be seen even after that?'_

_"Then with the light you have in your hand, change it into a sword of will and faith and cut a path through the burning forest. You may not be given freedom, but you may win it yet!"_

Tsubaki closed her eyes and smiled. There was no longer any time to waste. Striding swiftly back to her room, Tsubaki prepared missives calling for the aid of the Asian region's most powerful mystics and daemon-hunters. It would take time to mobilise them all and prepare for the storm that was to come. It would be dawn when she finally stamped and sealed the last missive. She pulled out the letter that Aoshi gave her along with the folder, and looked at the entries that she had highlighted earlier:

**_'I have reasons to believe that the Fallen host has sent one of their champions to Kyoto High where Makoto is currently studying in. Both of them are believed to be rebels of the Dawn House, so I trust that you will take all necessary precautions. Do not act foolishly. My informant tells me that one of them – a German girl by the name of Lilith Aridel – has power equivalent to that of Cameela's, maybe more so. And if Lilith is around, then her brother, the Fell Knight Lord Areil is bound to be around._**

_**'The name of the daughter of Heaven who has come to our world goes by the name of Sophia Randolph. Like Lilith, she is from Germany as well. Coincidence? There is too much going on for this to be mere coincidence. But, one thing is for certain – both Lilith and Sophia have taken a deep and vested interest in our friend's son. Whatever their reasons may be, I have reason to believe it may well involve the shattered sword of the Morningstar.'**_

_**'With the End Times fast approaching, it goes without saying that the Morningstar will see to it that he unites the 7 disparate Legions under his banner before he crosses over. How, I do not know. But, we both know his ultimate aim. It has never changed.'**_

Indeed. There was no dispute as to the Adversary's final destination and his ultimate aim.

The miko flipped to another page, this one a report from one of Aoshi's agents within the Vatican regarding the Kindred. The chaos that was slowly devouring the human society was devouring the vampires' as well. The hostilities between the disparate Kindred factions were starting to escalate, and the nightly battles between them were starting to attract the attention of the authorities and the media.

Sooner or latter, the entire Masquerade would fall to pieces. But before that happened, the Camarilla's ancient enemy was not about to let an opportunity like this go wasted. And as depraved, cold and cruel the elders of the Camarilla were, they were nothing compared to the monsters that filled the ranks of the Belial's Brood.

In almost every coven the exorcist teams of the Vatican would crush, there would be at least half a dozen of these devil-worshipping Kindred in their number. It was not uncommon for the high-ranking members of such cults to have Kindred of the Belial's Brood acting as their bodyguards. Possessing superhuman strength and speed, in addition to dark powers and Disciplines not available to those outside their faction, they were difficult even by Kindred standards to take down.

It was the last entry, on the 5-page letter, that chilled Tsubaki's soul. It was hard to shake her, but the sheer logic in that statement was hard to refute. It came down to a simple question of if the angels of the Holy Host were willing to defy their Creator for the sake of Mankind. Did they have the courage to go do the right thing, even if it meant defying God? Were they willing to fall from grace for something that may not be worth saving?

She closed her eyes, remembering the words Shateiel had spoken a long time ago. He had asked them once, after they had sent a depraved Kindred elder and his blood cult to Final Death, if God had already turned his back on the world. But, really, could there be any other explanation?

Wars were threatening to erupt in the Middle East.

Famine and Pestilence had brought 3rd world countries to their knees.

Unemployment was skyrocketing, and there was an air of general unrest even in peaceful countries like Singapore.

There was a surge of cult activity everywhere and a spate of murders in every major city that would have made Jack the Ripper look like an amateur.

Suddenly, Tsubaki's senses screamed a warning and she shot up, dropping the folder she had been reading to the floor. Her single eye narrowed as she grabbed the Hellfire sword and whirled just as the shoji doors slid open. In strode a dark-haired young woman wearing a grey business suit and matching trousers. In her hands, she carried a tray with a steaming cup of herbal tea.

Tsubaki's eyes widened in recognition, and she relaxed. Inwardly, however, the silver-haired miko was cursing her lack of awareness. Rare were the times when her guard was down, and being caught off-guard was something she did not relish.

"Tsubaki-sama," the young woman bowed.

"Saki-chan," Tsubaki nodded, "What are you doing here? I thought you would arrive only next Saturday with Nakahito-kun and your sisters."

The dark-haired young woman smiled even as she laid the tray on the nearby table, "We've had a change of plans, Tsubaki-sama. The Kagura family has received instructions from Aoshi-sama via one of his agents last Sunday. Suffice to say, the entire Council of elders is in an uproar, but they have decided to act before we run out of time."

"Saki-chan, has there been anything of interest happening within the Courts of the Eternal Guard?"

"Not that I know of," Saki replied, "But the Dominions have been locked in debate for quite some time now ever since Vashishtael came with a message from the Almighty."

"Do you know what it was?"

Saki shook her head, "Whatever it was, it had the Dominions in an uproar. Mikhail-san had stormed from the Chambers several hours later, and refused to divulge anything to us – or to Nakahito, for that matter. And that, Tsubaki-sama, is not a good sign."

X X X X X X 

**_Shinomori Dojo, Friday, 15th September 1999, 1920 hrs_**

Today was the day. Makoto studied his _shinai,_ as he looked sideways to his fellow kendoka, some of who were speaking with Lilith, most others looking at her with varying degrees of interest. Only a small handful stood aside, watching the amethyst-haired girl carefully. This small group was the howling elite of the combined Kyoto High Kendo team and the Shinomori Dojo's. Standing among them was his green-haired, amber-eyed cousin, Kasumi.

There was a tension to his cousin that was hard to hide, Makoto saw. He couldn't blame her. The moment when Lilith bowed into the dojo, he felt his instincts suddenly flare up with a howl that denied ignorance. The amethyst-haired German girl had run her eyes over every single member of the Kendo club, sizing them up, lingering the longest on Kasumi, on 3 other seniors, Sensei Hiromaru and finally on him.

Her crimson eyes blazed with humour when it did so, and the playful smile that curved her lips told Makoto that today would be one of those day he would go home sore. Kasumi had seen that smile, and her face, smiling previously, had become emotionless in a heartbeat. That was a look Makoto had learnt to dread. Kasumi was pissed.

For what, he did not know, but Makoto knew he was done for in any case.

"_Seiren!" _Kasumi suddenly shouted, and Makoto knelt to take his _men _and _kote _from the floor. With a deep breath, Makoto cleared his mind and joined his fellows. Despite the knowledge that he was in for one hell of a beating, a voice whispered gleefully that he was going to have fun, regardless. Makoto smiled as he knelt in _seiza_ position with the rest of his compatriots before Hiromaru-sensei. There was never any point worrying about the inevitable.

"_Konbanwa, minna-san_," Hiromaru-sensei spoke, "I know it is early for me to begin lessons, but I have some announcements to make as some of you were not present during the last training session. From here on out, we will be training in the Shinomori Dojo instead of the school hall. The Basketball Team will be using it to train for the regional finals. As of now, the Kyoto High Kendo club and the kendoka of the Shinomori Dojo will be formed into a single team that will take part in the NKT. Training will be hard, and I ask that everyone do his or her best.

"Also, I want everyone to welcome Lilith-san. For those who do not know, she is a transfer student from Kyoto High, and she will be joining us for both the training and the Competition as well. She was also the Kendo team captain back in her country, and has won numerous competitions – both local and international. A few words, please, Lilith-san."

Claps and nods greeted Lilith, who stood up to bowed politely to the rest of the class.

"I am glad to be here, and I look forward to training with all of you. You may not be aware, but the Shinomori Dojo is well known in my country's Kendo dojos. Its students have given my senseis back there a hard fight every time they chose to make an appearance. And so, I am here to see if I can bring the fight back to them.

"On another note, I am fully aware that my joining at this time may be awkward in more ways than one, what with the Tournament round the corner. But, I am also more than aware that we are outnumbered two to one by almost every school in the prefecture. Long odds, but I am not interested in how long they are.

"I will help you in your training even as you train."

Makoto blinked. It was rude for anyone to even infer that they were better than the sensei, but this was clearly an exception. Every single kendoka – even Hiromaru-sensei – was spellbound by Lilith's charisma.

"And when we meet our adversaries in the Tournament, we will be able to give them the fight of their lives. I have faith in all of you that we can – and shall – prevail. They are not going to make sushi out of us."

Grins began to appear.

"But, I didn't come here to talk about defeat. I do not deny its possibility, but I'm going to make it…difficult for them to even think it. If they want to win, they will fight every step of the way," Lilith finished, putting emphasis on the last eight words.

Enthusiastic claps met Lilith's words, and the somber air was soon charged with a singularity of purpose. Kasumi was grinning, and there was a look of merry anticipation in her amber eyes. Hiromaru-sensei had a rare smile on his otherwise somber face, clearly looking forward to getting into the fray himself.

Makoto smiled. Yes. Today would be a good day.

X X X X X X 

Makoto rubbed his ribs even as he waited for the train to arrive. Kami-sama, but that blow would most certainly leave a mark. When he had changed in private after practice, he had noticed that several areas where Lilith and Kasumi had hit him were starting to purple. Aunt Saya would give him an almighty scolding the moment she so much as saw them.

His mind turned to the person responsible for **_most_** of them. He never could have believed that Lilith could move so fast – or hit so hard, for that matter. She had been all over him, giving him almost no time to react, unleashing a barrage of blows with an elegance and finesse that was hypnotic. Even Makoto could find almost no fault in her strokes. Her crimson eyes had stared at him through the _men_, blazing with lust and an undeniable hunger. Each time their _shinais_ crashed, each time they were locked, it felt…right. There was simply no other way to describe it. He was almost at peace, and the memories, the pain and the regret, all of that faded away.

Here was a symphony all their own, in a private world of their making. Predator and prey engaged in a dance that was almost erotic in its intensity. The way Lilith moved, the way her long amethyst hair swirled from her _men,_ reminded Makoto of a stalking predator – beautiful, elegant and utterly dangerous. Makoto shook his head, and slapped himself several times to clear his head of the embarrassing images that were taking shape in his head. It did not help that he had put to paper some of his more erotic dreams. He shivered at the thought of his nosey, playful aunt finding them. She would blush up a storm before proceeding to blackmail him.

He looked at his watch. It was a quarter past ten. Time enough to grab a burger and a drink at the nearest MacDonald's on the way home. And perhaps, give his body a break before it fell apart. The hair at the back of his neck prickled, and he turned quickly just as a familiar voice spoke, "Ara…is that you, Makoto-kun?"

"R-Ruida-sensei?"

Makoto couldn't recognize the teacher and _sempai_ that had always taken to time to talk to him and help him out with his schoolwork. Dressed in a Chinese cheongsam and was carrying a black purse, Ruida-sensei cut a striking figure amidst the crowd. The slit of the Chinese dress reached all the way up to her thigh, revealing the black pantyhose she wore beneath. Makoto quickly averted his gaze before he was caught staring.

"I take it from that awed look on your face that you approve of my taste in clothes," Ruida laughed, "Just finished your kendo lessons?"

"_Hai_. What about you, sensei? Where did you go? Clubbing?"

Ruida shook her head, "I rarely go clubbing, Kusakabe-kun. You, of all people, should know that. I don't want to report to work tomorrow with the mother of all hangovers. I don't want to get on the Principal's bad side. I'm not like your aunt, you know."

Makoto chuckled, before a somber look entered his eyes, "Sometimes, I don't blame her when she drinks heavily."

"Makoto-kun?"

"My aunt has been through a lot, sensei, ever since my parents died. Raising me, running the business…I sometimes wonder what makes her so driven. It's like she's reaching for the sky she can never touch. I want to tell her that it's impossible, but I just can't tell her that when she's trying so hard to do otherwise," and he shook his head, before a smile curved his lips, "I'm sorry, Ruida-sensei. I didn't mean to lay my problems on you."

Ruida bopped his head, "_Baka_. There's nothing to be sorry about when you care about someone. And call me Ruida, Makoto. We're no longer in school."

"But -," Makoto started to protest.

"No buts, Makoto-kun. I don't want to feel so old." _'When in fact, I'm already am…' _

Makoto raised his hands to infer that he would argue no further. They started to talk about other things, about how school was, about how he was proceeding with his father's work, and if he was prepared for the Tournament in October. Then, the talk finally came to settle on Kyoto High's newest girls on the block.

"How do you find them personally?" Ruida finally asked.

"Uh…I…uhmm…"

_'I see,' _Ruida thought, maintaining an outwardly amused façade even as she felt her heart clench. Even though Makoto looked and acted like him, he was not the man Ruida had fallen in love with so long ago. His aura, she saw, was a mixture of deep scarlet, sky blue and pink, as well as a streak of silver. Desire, love, compassion and sorrow respectively.

But why sorrow? Could it be…yes, there could be no other reason; Makoto had never forgotten – nor forgiven – the events that had led to his first love, Ruri, getting pregnant. He didn't want any other girl to suffer after seeing what Ruri had had to go through.

_'You're kind, Makoto-kun. So very kind…but I wonder if,' _and she turned about to face the regard of the unseen spy, '_If she knows that I will not let you come to any harm.'_

Ruida's amber eyes narrowed in fury as they met the mocking gaze of someone that had once been both sister and student. The former clenched her fists tightly, allowing her nails to draw blood in preparation for a ritual that would have broken the Masquerade in a thunderous fashion. The eyes of the latter widened briefly at the unspoken threat. Even the distance between them would not give the crimson-eyed girl the time to evade the attack – and she knew it.

The figure held up both her hands, palms outward, a silent indication that she would not initiate a confrontation. A voice echoed in Ruida's mind, _"Not here, Harafel. Not when he is around. I don't want to hurt him."_

Ruida's mental laughter was humorless, _"It's so unlike you to suddenly develop a conscience, Lilith. You were never one to care for the Masquerade, or for the race of dust. I know that the murders were your doing."_

_"I will not deny that. Are you going to bring the mortal authorities down on me, Harafel?"_

_"It would be pointless. I know you well enough to know that you will use your Disciplines to cover your tracks. And besides, my pointing my finger in your direction is going to leave a lot of people dead."_

A malicious chuckle, _"You know me all too well, Harafel."_

_"And are you intending to add Makoto to the list later on?" _Ruida asked.

There was a brief silence, a sign that Lilith had been thrown off balance, and Ruida pressed the attack, _"How many have you killed, Lilith? Your reputation is as bloody as the Legion you are part of! I remember your exploits from the War of Wrath – every last detail. Whatever powers and skills you have, I taught you. I know your handiwork when I see it. I left justice in the hands of Michael, thinking that whatever punishment he and God could dish out to you and your vile kin would befit your odious betrayal. I should have killed you when I had the chance!"_

"_I did die, Harafel! The Lilith you knew had perished in the War. You, Michael and the Holy Host were the ones that murdered me! Humanity -"_

"_Humanity has NOTHING to do with this!"_

"_They have EVERYTHING to do with this!" _Lilith fired back.

"_And what is the sin that they have committed against us that makes you hate them, Lilith? Is it because God chose to put them – that which we created – above us? Are you blaming them for the decisions you made of your own free will?"_

"_They were the ones that wrecked Paradise! They were the ones who saw to the Great Fall of the Morningstar! You were there in the First Days, Harafel, long before I was ever born! You saw Creation at its most glorious. Look around you, Harafel. The wounds from when the Tyrant smote Creation in His Wrath still bleeds – and is festering because Mankind caused it to fester!"_

Ruida fell silent, her eyes remembering the ages long gone. It was, as Lilith had said, glorious. She **_had_** been there when the assembled hosts of Heaven rode out in their multitudes, eager to carry out the will of their Creator. On that day of infinite potential, anything, everything had been possible. The Angels brought the infinite grace of the Almighty across the Void.

Mankind had been the Celestials' crowning glory. Nothing had compared to the elation that had been felt through all the Host when the First Man stood on his two feet, gazing up at his Creators with awed, wondering eyes.

Innocent, naïve, and like Creation, so full of potential. God had been pleased by what He saw, and had granted the final and most important spark to make Mankind complete – that of his own divine spirit, that which made the newborn race of Man in His image. But, Ruida remembered, above all, the time when Lucifer had corrupted humanity and the War that had erupted soon afterwards.

It was during that time that Ruida's own beloved perished at the swords of loyalist celestials on the orders of a traitor Dominion.

How long has it been, really? It seemed that the ages passed so quickly ever since the War of Wrath ended. So long since he had died.

"_Nevertheless, Lilith,"_ Ruida spoke through the mental link, _"we cannot deny the fact that Mankind shared our punishment. They were cast out of Eden onto this purgatory. You and your ilk were cast straight into Hell. And the Holy Host? Do you think that they escaped punishment as well? We murdered our own brothers and sisters, Lilith. You and the rest of the Fallen may have shown no remorse when you murdered or defiled your kin, but we did."_

"_Spare me your righteous drivel, Harafel. You are no more loyal to God than I am! Why in the name of the Morningstar you still defend the Tyrant when He was the cause of your pain is something that still eludes me! Are you clinging to His coattails in the belief that He will bring Darien back to you as recompense for your heroism and loyalty during the War?"_

Lilith took an involuntary step back as Ruida's wrath poured through the mental link like a tidal wave, sending her reeling, _"Get out of my sight, Lilith."_

"_Very well. I will take my leave, Harafel," _the female devil spoke softly as she turned and walked away, before stopping briefly to add, _"But tell me one thing: How much are you willing to give in order to hold Darien in your arms as you had all those years ago?"_

Ruida's eyes widened, but before she could answer, Lilith severed the mental link. A hand on her shoulder soon broke her out of her thoughts, and she turned to see Makoto looking at her concernedly. In that gaze was the unasked question of if she was all right. She smiled, and put one hand on Makoto's, an act that took her back to an age when Angels had dared to love a being that was so ephemeral.

"I'm all right," she said, smiling, feeling the anger that had roiled so violently in her dissipate.

Makoto nodded. He had never seen a look of such chilling fury on Ruida's face in all the years he knew her – nor see pain so great that it chilled his heart with its loss. He wanted to ask, but knew not to. He remained silent, not speaking, as they watched the train enter the station.

X X X X X 

Lilith watched Makoto and Ruida board the train from the shadows of a nearby building. Her brother had been right about Harafel. The centuries she spent in exile on the earthly realm had done little to diminish her power. In fact, they served only to strengthen her. But, they have never allowed the wound gouged into her by Heaven's loyal angels to heal.

Deep within her, Harafel had never forgiven Heaven for a perceived betrayal. Lilith smiled. Now, that was a weakness that she could exploit. The only complication in the whole equation was Makoto, and the female devil loathed to get the mortal involved.

"Enjoy the moment while it lasts, Harafel. Either way, you will not have him. I won't let you. And neither will she…"

X X X X X X 

Unknown to Lilith, another figure stood atop the roof of a nearby building, her Disciplines hiding her from plain and mystical sight. Sapphire eyes watched the unknowing fallen angel. She had had suspicions when first entered the school…but now she knew. A rebel of the Fallen host was here. This was no mere footsoldier of the infernal host or a Fell Knight, oh no. This was a Fallen Valkyrie, the female counterparts of the Fallen Lords of the Fallen host.

One that she knew from days past.

She lowered her head even as she did the bow she had aimed at Lilith, allowing her blonde hair to shadow her eyes as memories swamped her. Memories that were as old as the stars above, and heavy with the weight of sorrow. Ruida, Lilith, so many…how did it happen? Why?

No one knew.

And now, it had finally come to this.

12 Avatars – 12 gateways around the world – and only 1 would be the one that brings the Morningstar from his black throne in Hell to the mortal plane. The question was this: Which one of the Avatars would he choose?

She whispered words in an ancient tongue long forgotten to the race of Man, careful to ensure that the Fallen she spied upon did not sense the Gating, and stood within her apartment once more. She threw her bags aside and slumped onto the bed, gazing at the moon that was shadowed by dark storm clouds. She remembered the Sigil of God that had blazed upon its pristine surface the day she had walked the halls of Kyoto High.

God's grace was now empty.

The girl whispered a soft prayer for the boy that she was starting to have feelings for that he would not suffer the horrible fate that awaited all those that were chosen to be the Morningstar's Avatars. If the Prince of the Fallen chose Makoto, Sophia knew that she would not have the courage to strike him down…

_**To be continued…**_


	6. A whisper from the Darkness

_**Chapter 4: A whisper from the past/ A voice from the Darkness**_

_**Singapore, Fort Canning, Saturday 16th September 1999, 2000 hrs**_

A young woman with white hair and crimson eyes sat at one of the tables in the cafe within Fort Canning's heritage centre, waiting for her companion to arrive. The movie festival being held nearby gave the normally quiet surroundings of the historical site a lively air, something the security guards working the night shift preferred over the cold, silent nights in a place that still held ghosts that had yet to pass on.

Aware, yet uncaring of the looks cast in her direction, she continued flipping through her book by the light of the candle. Her attire was eye-cacthing, to say the least. The slits of the Chinese cheongsam she wore were cut almost to her hips, revealing both the strong, shapely legs and a hint of the undergarment she wore. Resting against the wall next to the woman were two wrapped bags, one of them close to 6 feet in length.

She took a sip of the drink she had ordered earlier when he appeared. It had been a while since she last saw him, but she could tell that he had not changed a single bit. That easy, childish smile and air was at odds with the confident gait and the firmness of his gaze. Clad in a dark trenchcoat, a white shirt, necktie and dark trousers, he looked every bit like a professional assassin. Long, dark hair tied in a ponytail that swished gently with every step filled out the image.

"Your fashion sense has improved," she commented as he drew closer.

"Speak for yourself, Bennu," the man replied, "But, the next time...could you not wear something that is so...sheer? This is Singapore, not the US, you know."

Bennu chuckled. The look of appreciation in his dark eyes as they ran over her shapely figure spoke an entirely different story. She deliberately crossed one bared leg over the other in a sultry fashion, causing more than one male in the general vicinity to suffer from a nosebleed and the women to glare at Bennu in outright jealousy.

"True...but you know I love the attention, Sheik. And I take it that you still approve," she grinned. Sheik turned crimson, but held his composure in the face of her Discipline. He rubbed his temples in mock exasperation before speaking, "It's hard to believe you're a Gangrel, Bennu. The way you act practically screams Toreador."

"Just because I have more style and love the same things they do does not make me any less a Gangrel," Bennu scowled, "And being an Archon means attending court. Impressions count when one plays politics."

Her companion grinned, before his face took on a more serious cast, "I'm glad to see that you're all right, Bennu. Ever since the bombings in Rome several months ago...I've been wondering what had happened to you and the rest of the Seraphs. I've been trying to reach you for months now. What happened?"

"I've been spending last said months trying to get myself - and what is left of the Seraphs - across the English Channel. We had to evade the Vatican, the Belial's Brood and..."

Sheik raised his hand to cut her off, "Bennu...what do you mean by 'what is left of the Seraphs'?"

There was a tone in her companion's voice that raised the vampiress's hackles. If there was anything the Gangrel archon hated, it was disrespect. Her Beast retreated when her mind reminded it just who it was she was dealing with. Had Sheik been just another member of the human race, the vampiress would not have hesitated utilizing her Disciplines to make him pay for his disrespect.

Had she tried, the facade of childishness that hid a Beast that would cause even the eldest of her race to cower in terror would erupt. She had seen it when they had met all those years ago, when she had led a band of her Covenant's Inquisitors and Crusaders to crush a devil-worshipping cult.

That fateful meeting was the reason why Bennu was the woman she was now.

Before she had met him, she had been the pinnacle of what her Covenant had preached to its members. She had been a Sword of God, a predator unto His children, a living reminder of what happens when one crosses the Creator one time too many. Bennu was not born a vampire. She had worked as a prostitute 2 centuries ago in the taverns and brothels of England, before her fiery spirit and refusal to yield led her to being Embraced by her sire. He had groomed and trained her as an assassin, indoctrinating her to the precepts of the Lancea Sanctum before inducting her into its ranks.

She had been his most prized childer, but was now his greatest shame.

Because, on that fateful night almost 7 years ago, she found an answer to an age-old question that had eluded her and her Covenant for centuries. It was one that had led her into the waiting arms of the Lancea Sanctum's Protector faction. The Covenant she had been part of believed that a vampire is an instrument of God's wrath, to test and punish humanity and other supernaturals alike according to His - and the Covenant's - precepts. It held aloft the law that it was pointless for any vampire to deny its predatory nature. To deny it was to spit in the Creator's plan for the vampiric race as a whole.

The wolf does not mingle with the sheep, so said the sermons during the Midnight Masses of the Covenant. But, never once had those sermons reminded its listeners that once upon a time, those same wolves had once been sheep themselves.

And never once had they spoken that there were other beings that hunted the predators themselves.

"Of the 35 Seraphs, only 18 remain, including myself," she choked out. Her companion's eyes widened in shock, before the air shimmered with his rage, "How...?"

Bennu turned away, not wanting to meet her companion's eyes, "I'm sorry. I tried my best but there was little I could do. The Belial's Brood and their allies were all over us before we had time to react. It was because I decided to fuck the Traditions of the Conclave that I'm still alive. More than a few elders owe me their unlives because I did just that."

"I don't care whether the Camarilla's elders are alive or rotting in Hell, Bennu," Sheik snarled, "What I want to know is how did the Sybarites manage to discover the location of the Conclave. How was it even possible? You told me about the Conclaves and the amount of planning that goes into hosting such a gathering. The Inner Circle sees to it that at least 3 other major cities in the world would act as decoys. And whether it be the real deal or the decoy, the security is tight enough to fuck an army several times over. How did they manage to get past that?"

"Simple," Bennu replied coolly, "They infiltrated the Camarilla. The attack in May was not something the Sybarites had thought of overnight. They had been planning this for decades, maybe centuries. Every Covenant and Clan had Sybarite agents within their ranks, waiting only for the right time to strike. And they struck at a time when all Kindred - even themselves - are weakened."

"Weakened...?"

"The Conclave's original agenda had been to deal with something the Tremeres called the 'Withering'. At first, we thought that it was merely a hoax that the Warlocks had cooked up to increase the prestige and standing of their clan, but when it started afflicting every single Kindred regardless of Clan, Covenant and generation across the world, the Inner Circle called for it."

"Bennu...are you...?"

She lowered her head, letting her snowy locks cover her eyes. She could feel the blood that flowed through her unliving veins slowly lose its potency, as if the strength in it was slowly being sucked into an abyss. Nothing short of diablerie - vampiric cannibalism - where one Kindred devoured the life and soul of another, could counteract this. She had seen the Sybarites fall upon her compatriots with a desperate, ferocious hunger and rising up stronger than before, the execution of their Disciplines unhampered by the Withering.

She heard Sheik draw in a deep breath, and felt the horror in his aura.

"I am. That is why I need your help. If this goes on, I will die before long. Those who are closer to our race's Founder suffer the worst of it. The Withering strikes those of the older generations first. We have more power and thus have farther to fall. It wouldn't be long before Cecile, Anita and Huang feel the full effects of it."

"What about Hardestadt? Did he die in the attack?"

"I was about to get there. To answer your second question, no. That asshole did not die. And to answer your first, he wasn't even affected by it! And I should know. When the Sybarites attacked, he was knocking them left and right. That was what got me suspicious. When even those as old as he were having problems activating their Disciplines, how was he able to do so? I don't know how he managed to stave off the worst of the Withering, but I came to two conclusions. One," Bennu said, raising one finger, "was that he sought help from the Librarians of my Covenant or the Magisters of Clan Tremere. If that had been the case, then the Withering would have long ago ceased to have been a problem. Which brings me to the second conclusion..."

"Diablerie," Sheik finished for her, "Which will mean that Hardestadt knew about the Withering long before it actually broke out and had prepared himself for it."

Bennu snapped her fingers, "Exactly!"

"Bennu, do you have any idea of what you're saying? I do not disagree with the assessment that Hardestadt is a bastard, but he's not a stupid one. If he's found breaking the very Tradition he and his fellows have set up during the Camarilla's founding, the entire sect is going to fall apart."

"It IS falling apart. It is only a matter of how long the surviving elders and Princes can keep it together. And the possibility that Hardestadt has sold the entire sect out is going to speed up the process," Bennu growled, her eyes changing to a shade of molten amber.

Sheik rubbed his temples, trying his best to piece what she was saying and what he knew together. He failed miserably, "You'd better start from the beginning, Bennu. Do remember that I was thrown to rot here for the past eleven months and know nothing save what I managed to strangle out of our contacts."

"All right, all right. My bad, you happy now? I'll give you the details, so you'd better keep your ears open. Consider this then. What if Hardestadt himself orchestrated the attack? What if the infiltration of the Sybarites into the Camarilla and the Covenant were HIS doing? What if all those vampires you and I know suddenly disappeared into thin air and you get word from your contacts that someone in the Camarilla is instigating a purge of those it views as 'detrimental' to its existence? Hell...some of them could not even sink a leaky boat, Sheik, and they vanished," Bennu began, "I never thought about it that way until I remembered what that asshole Cardinal - yes, our old friend in the Vatican - told us long time back. There was a similarity between what happened to his team some 20 years ago and now.

"I did some tracking...and my contacts down under told me some things that set me on edge. I didn't believe it at first, but the more I searched, the more I believed that Hardestadt knew something that a grand majority of my race did not. Ghost and Metaraia confirmed Jully's findings when they helped Jessica and her Crusader kill-team bust a coven. Do you know what they found?"

Sheik shook his head, and Bennu smiled coldly, "They found staked vampires hanging on meathooks...and several members of Hardestadt's hit-squads draining them dry. Now before you go about saying if this is the doing of some splinter faction in that asshole's kill teams, I will assure you that it's not. Justicar Adriel was there, as was Hardestadt's spymaster, Blackheart."

A strangled curse left Sheik's lips. He paled when she added that 2 of the other Seraph kill-teams had caught 3 other high-ranking Camarilla members red-handed in the act of diablerie at locations Jully had managed to uncover as covens belonging to the Belial's Brood. When the Sanctified Crusader teams had dragged them back to face trial, Hardestadt had personally executed his treacherous lieutenants for breaking the Traditions he had set up.

It was only when he stood before Justicar Adriel that whatever powers he had been exerted over the entire Court for the duration of the Trial was countered. The doomed Justicar's final words had been damning enough for Bennu and her allies to set off alarm bells in their heads. When the Conclave in Rome had been called for, many of them went in armed. But, even with such precautions taken, it had not been enough.

Sheik fell silent as his mind went over the facts with cold logic, and found each and every conclusion damning. The possibility of the Camarilla's Founder betraying the very sect he had labored so hard to build after the Dark Ages ended was not only staggering, but ridiculous as well. It held all the reasoning of killing the goose that laid the golden eggs.

A soft voice whispered in his soul, _'Or more appropriately, why break the very basket that is strong enough to hold all the eggs? Or was it meant to hold those eggs in the first place?"_

It was possible. Anything was possible when it came to an immortal, blood-thirsting race that manipulated humanity from the shadows. He was familiar with the Machiavellian schemes of the vampire elders and knew how far they were willing to go in order to accomplish their twisted schemes.

Hardestadt had not managed to keep his numerous and bickering lieutenants in line by not knowing how to play the game, but by pitting them against each other. If anything, the Founder was as good a tactician as any devil - and he had the power of one as well. The fact that Hardestadt would sell out his own was not surprising in the least. Despite the vampires' supposed superiority over the human race, there were traits that both races could have done without. Kindred could be just as self-serving as their human counterparts.

Bennu's coterie mate, the Warlock Jully Lavberg, had even pointed out the shared ancestry of both humanity and the vampiric race. It was Jully who had first introduced him to the myths and legends surrounding her race as well as the sorcerous Disciplines of her Clan. It had been a cherished time for them both. Jully spent most of her time experimenting on him - something he had not appreciated - in return for letting him discover abilities innate to a breed that existed only in biblical legend. At one point, Jully had shown him her most treasured secret, something she had never shown anyone in the coterie. In order to ensure his trust, she had shown him hers. The complete compilation of both the Book of Nod and the Erciyes Fragments.

In those books, it spoke of the birth of the vampire race, of the Curse God bestowed upon the first of their kind through his angels. It spoke of an age before recorded history, when the Kindred race had ruled over humanity. It spoke of the wars that soon erupted between Caine's children and the punishment he levied to make heavier an already heavy burden.

But, above all, it spoke of how the Curse that the One Above would come to an end. The first sign of its coming was that the potency in the blood of the Kindred would wither. The legend also spoke of a sure-fire way to counter the Withering - diablerie. Hardestadt had, without a doubt, known about the Withering and had prepared for its eventuality. That he knew the exact moment when the mystical plague struck the Kindred race as a whole bespoke of bargains made with dark powers. Added to the fact that the Sybarites had known the exact location of the Conclave had made Bennu's accusations on the Founder even more damning.

But would Hardestadt really go that far?

Was there another way to counter the Withering? Jully was dead, no doubt killed during the attack months ago. If there were any possible solutions, they were forever beyond his grasp.

He was rocked out of his thoughts when Bennu spoke again, "Sheik...there is also one thing I must ask of you."

Sheik could not help but tremble at the plea in her voice, something that he would never have associated with the proud Gangrel archon. It reminded him of a dying puppy asking for a few brief moments of kindness before it passed on. His voice was hoarse when he asked what it was.

"I want you to leave Singapore with me. Tonight."

"Tonight? What's..." and she placed a slender finger on his lips.

Her crimson eyes met his dark ones. She had not much time to explain. When that damned Cardinal called in a debt she and the coterie owed him, they had not been in a position to refuse. Especially since he was the one who had helped them escape Europe when the Sybarites had been gleefully hunting every Camarilla-aligned vampire they could get their claws on. By coming to Singapore instead of meeting Cardinal Wesley in England as instructed, she was pushing it. But, she would not abandon Sheik to Hardestadt's lackeys. Her coterie mates would murder her if she so much as entertained the thought.

Hardestadt's personal Warlock, Azaha Ibn Douta, knew about Sheik. She knew that his blood could alleviate the Withering longer than diablerie could, and strengthen the vampire's blood potency by several degrees. He would be a prize catch for every vampire who soon realized that there was a chance of outlasting (and outfighting) the competition.

That was not all. There were several demons who had aided the Sybarites in their attack on the Conclave for the sole purpose of capturing him. The familiar, beautiful faces of Red Vex and Black Jade - two succubi nominated to be Sheik's lovers and bodyguards - appeared in her mind. That they were present in the attack had made it clear that Andariel was hell-bent on reclaiming her favourite son before her enemies could set him against her.

"I will explain later, but right now..." and the chime of her cell-phone stopped her from speaking. She fished it out of her purse, "Yes, Mell? What is it?"

Her eyes narrowed, "What? Are you sure? They're here already? Damn it! Did they see you? No? Good. Get the plane refilled by the time I get back. We're leaving the minute I get Sheik over to Changi. Bribe the guards at the gate near the Ferry Terminal - yes, that one. Telll Cecile to put Plan B into effect, then have Raider meet me at the gate with a patrol car."

"Bennu? What's wrong?" her companion asked.

She told him.

The blood drained immediately from Sheik's face. The archon didn't blame her companion for being scared. Hell, if he wasn't, she would have thought him insane. She passed him one of the two bags leaning against the wall, "Take this. It's something one of the Tremeres had invented by combining science and sorcery together. Jully managed to duplicate the process some months back. This was meant to be yours."

Sheik took it as he stood up, "We'd better..." and he suddenly froze before turning to glare at a point in space. A smile appeared on Sheik's lips. It was not a friendly, childish smile that he gave everyone. It was one he gave an opponent he had every intention of seeing suffer. His reaction made her realize why when her supernatural senses tingled. She cursed the Withering, realizing that it had made even that watchdog Discipline's constancy erratic.

They were being watched.

And Bennu would bet her un-life that it was Hardestadt's Tremere bitch.

Sheik's telepathic voice was thunderous with power, and icy with malice, promising unspeakable torment should he get his talons on the Tremere. The Gangrel archon heard her unseen adversary's agonizing shriek of agony as she forcibly severed the connection and her spirit was sent hurling back to her physical body. Bennu shivered, seeing a shadow of the monster that lurked beneath her companion's facade, and pitied Azaha. The malice in Sheik's eyes promised that the Warlock would live longer if only to scream.

But, there was no doubt that Azaha had already done what had been asked of her. When Bennu's cell-phone rang, and when the speaker on the other end told her of the trouble coming her way, it confirmed her suspicions.

"We'd better get out of here quick. Hardestadt's lapdogs are nearby," she said.

Sheik couldn't agree more.

**X X X X X X**

_**London, London University, Archaeological Faculty, Saturday, 16th September 1999, 2030 hrs**_

Professor Jeanette Dover had worked in the university of London for 10 years ever since her father, the former Head of the University's Archaeological and Ancient Histories faculty, died 20 years ago. She had received her doctorate at the age of 24 from the University's former dean before proceeding to join it as one of its staff.

Life her father, she shared in his love of the past. Like him, she shared in the love of teachingf others. The memory of her father, smiling down at her, telling her stories from civilizations she had nebver known existed, made her the woman she was today. From China's Romance of the 3 Kindgoms to the stories of the Egyptian dynasties, her father knew them all.

Her mother had told her that her father was a hopeless workaholic. If he wasn't out training, he would be in his study, buried in his books for hours on end. The diatribe of a woman driven to near-despair at her husband's inability to control himself was something Jeanette remembered fondly - especially since the first could not help but adore the word and dedication of her mate.

A brief smile crossed Jeanette's lips as she remembered her mother shaking her head and commenting about how she was no different from her father. Beneath that exasperated exterior, however, was pride.

She stood up and walked over to the bookshelf, pulling out one of the 5 books that her father had compiled for her. They held in them a collection of stories and legends passed down from the days when the Word of God was given unto the flawed race fo Man. Of the 5 books, only 2 were bound in black leather and stenciled in gold. The remaining 3 were bound in red and stenciled in silver. The one she was holding was one of the former. Her father had decreed that only after her 15th birthday would she be allowed to peruse the black-bound books, restricting her to the red ones until that day.

And, when she did so, she finally understood why.

The red-bound books had held within them stories of faith and hope, of the selflessness and courage of those who had knelt before the Throne of God. James Dover saw to it that his daughter would not be misled by fools whose small minds made an already small world darker. He wanted his daughter to see the world before she even took that step. As a result, Jeanette Dover was welcomed even in Muslim and Jewish communities. She could argue the finer points of the Koran and the Torah with imams and rabbis.

The black-bound books held within them stories of darkness and horror that made her shiver. Stories of battles against the might of fell spirits who sought to punish Mankind for the sin of existence and the price demanded of imperfect heroes who sought victory over them.

But, despite her indepth knowledge of such matters, Jeanette Dover was, in a way, different from her father. The latter was a man who had faith in the unseen. His daughter, however, was his direct opposite. Their differences in perspective had been the root of the arguments the 34-year old woman had had with her father when he had still been alive. And if he still was, the war would have gone nuclear.

Jeanette could admit that she had not changed much from the fiery-tempered girl who had found joy in verbal skirmishes with her parent, but she had acquired a good amount of common sense that had been lacking in her younger days. She had been more...righteous, then, fired by a firm moral compass and the determination to see justice done. But, that had changed. She remembered the day when a package holding her father's journal and a thick stack of his notes was delivered to her home - courtesy of one of her father's friends.

In it, she saw the slow, downward spiral of a man she had once revered and idolized as the epitome of manhood. Speaking with those few who had returned from the dig-site, she slowly realized that what the Israeli government had announced regarding her father's death had been a cover-up. And whatever it was, she was certain that it had nothing to do with the terrorists that the Israeli government had claimed were responsible for his death.

It had taken years for her to gather evidence, and when she confronted the Israeli ambassador in England regarding the matter, they had confiscated her father's diary and research notes, before proceeding to blacken her name on charges of slander and fraud. It was followed by a double whammy from the University she worked in when the current Dean threatened to fire her when he had been infromed of her actions. Jeanette had little choice but to back down, and write a formal apology. But, their reaction had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were hiding something. Something that would make their nuclear program look like Disneyland.

Jeanette had covertly sent P.I.s over to Israel, hoping that they would uncover what had happened 20 years before, but the results have been dismal. She couldn't blame them. 20 years and a near-flawless government cover-up had erased every lead and removed every stone that would have allowed them to uncover the whole story. She would have gone over to Israel personally had the government there not banned her from entering the country.

Which was why, she could not believe what the man that lounged in her office's sofa was offering - a chance to find out what had really happened to her father. He claimed he had been there, and the descriptions of the Underground Cathedral's upper levels had made his claims irrefutable. The question of why he had been there when the intifada broke out had also arisen, but the older man had told her that it was best that she did not know. Jeanette studied the man's companions. They were a strange bunch, to say the least.There were five in all.

The first pair were no doubt mother and daughter. Both had thick manes of golden hair, but while the former had blue eyes, the latter had ones of liquid amber. They had introduced themselves as Silana-Calaster and Alys-Calaster respestively.

It was the second group that made Jeanette uncomfortable. No doubt, like the first pair, they were family, but there was something about them that made her uneasy. The snow-maned woman leaned in the shadows, her amethyst eyes luminous in the darkness, staring at her in a fashion that was disturbingly predatory.

She was beautiful, like Silana-Calaster, but lacked the other woman's warmth and playfulness. Her children, twins, sat on the chairs before her desk, watching her draw the book out of the shelf. Both of them watched her every move, and Jeanette knew that if she went for the gun hidden behind the books, she would not live long enough to aim it at them. Their mother had introduced herself as Morrigan Hyral and her twins as Duran and Fala Spiritblade. Duran had white hair and amber eyes; his sister, Fala, was the direct opposite.

"Did that really happen?" she asked, raising one eyebrow, "You seriously cannot expect me to believe this...fairy tale, Mr Wesley. Though, I must admit, the story you fabrictaed is impressive. You must have done a lot of research...maybe even gone to the Underground Cathedral yourself...before coming to speak to me. What are you really here for? My father's journal and his research notes, perhaps? If you are, you've wasted a considerable amount of time and money. The Israeli government has confiscated everything when I confronted them with the truth years ago."

"You lie," Morrigan spoke softly, her voice like a dagger sheathed in velvet, "You made a copy of your father's journal and notes before you confronted Ambassador Arieh years ago, didn't you?"

Jeanette froze. How did...?

Wesley smiled, "We who are in this room, Miss Jeanette, are looking for some answers that your father may have uncovered before he died. Each of us has our reasons, most of them as personal as the ones you have. I made my friend a promise. I intend to see it through. I have some pieces of the puzzle, but not the complete picture. Your father's journal will aid us in that...but we must go to Israel, to where it all began, in order to see it in its entirety. I'm here to offer you the same as you have every right to be there when we do so."

"Considering I agree to your request, how do you propose we do that? My face is on a list of those not allowed entrance to the country. I have no desire to spend the rest of my life in an Israeli prison," Jeanette said, "So unless you can convince me, I will have to decline your offer."

"I have my ways of entering Israel and bypassing its security. And yes," Wesley smiled, "most of them involve doing it in an...unlawful fashion. It will entail risks, Miss Jeanette, that I do not deny, but we must take them if we want to have our answers. I have enemies that will make the Israeli Mossad and the Italian mafia look like morons, and the moment they realize I have played them for fools, they will be out screaming bloody murder. You may very well end up dead, and that is why you have the option of refusing.

"I will not force you to join me. Many people I cared about are dead because of those answers that I am now seeking, and I will not add your name to the list. If you still say no, I will see to it that this meeting never took place."

Jeanette raised an eyebrow, "Oh, and how will you do that? Kill me?"

"Heavens, no," Wesley said, scandalized, "Morrigan will see to it that you simply...forget everything."

"How? Magic?" Jeanette asked, scorn lacing her tone.

"How I make you forget is immaterial, Miss Jeanette," Morrigan cut in before Wesley could reply, "But answer the Cardinal's question. Do you want to come with us?"

_'Cardinal...?' _

"Morrigan has a point, Jeanette," Silana said, "You have been searching for answers for over 10 years on what had really happened to your father. This is perhaps the only chance you will ever have to acquiring them. It will be dangerous, but you will not be alone. For everyone in this room, the stakes are high enough to die for - literally. Should you refuse, no one in this room will think you a coward. I know I won't."

"Indeed," the white-haired Duran added, "I will say that you have more sense than any of us here. The ball is in your court, girl. Do you wanna play the game?"

Jeanette fell silent, as she studied the photograph that took a place of honour on the lintel stone above her office's fireplace. Her parents stood by a younger image of her. Even then, the fire in those eyes astounded her. It was the gaze of a girl that was determined to make her own path in life, consequences be damned.

The reflection of the woman on the glass frame had a weary gaze of one tired of fighting.

_'How far have I fallen?' _Jeanette thought to herself.

Silana's words echoed in her mind. If she did this, her career was effectively gone. She would have a criminal record and be rotting in a jail cell for the rest of her life. She had not struggled for over 15 years just to throw aside all that she had achieved.

Or was it worth it in the first place?

She smiled as her old devil-may-care attitude awoke from its long slumber with a howling roar. Damn it. So what if the Israeli government threw her in jail and swallowed the key? James Dover was not the father of Abraham or Moses or Jesus; he was hers. And she had the right to know the truth.

If she ever wanted to put this ghost to rest, then she had to pay the ferryman.

_'This is it, girl. All you ever wanted. All you have to do is say yes. Are you ready to rock? Can you take it? Is it worth it? Hell yeah, it's worth it. Wait for me, daddy...'_

Jeannette faced Wesley with a confident smirk, "I'm in. When do we leave?"

**X X X X X X**

_**Vatican City, Rome, Sunday, 17th September 1999, 0930 hrs**_

Bauer von Kierstland studied the already lively streets of Vatican City, its liveliness and cheer doing little to lift her spirits. She had returned just hours before from a disastrous mission that had cost her the lives of almost half the 4 Inquisitorial strike forces she had put together for the task. Of the 50 men and women, only 23 returned from that heathen Muslim land. Heathen, indeed.

For why otherwise would a Bloodthirster - a rebel Angel of the Wild drowned in Torment - manifest itself there? Godless heathens, the lot of them! Had Indonesia been a devout Christian land, such a blasphemous being would never have stood upon the holy ground of Earth! Despite the losses, however, Bauer had to admit that they had done well. They had triumphed against overwhelming odds and sent a mighty demon and its servants screaming to face God's Judgement. She made a mental note to reward the survivors and to give them some time off.

Her mind replayed the scene where one of the Exorcist team's captain had faced off against the horror that had been a Deep One, a blasphemous creature that was a hybrid of creatures long-lost to Earth's distant age. Tsukihime Sharon, captain of the Scorpio Team, had taken it down in a titanic struggle that scorched the ground they had been on.

Bauer had thought the azure-haired girl immature, playing a child's game in an adult's arena, but her perspective of the younger girl changed after that event. In terms of power, Shaaron was almost as powerful as her foster-father. Where faith was concerned, Bauer had conceded that Sharon was as devoted to God as she was.

And to think that such a girl was the ward of her most hated rival in the Inquisition.

Cardinal Wesley had found her 7 years ago on the steps on his home, broken, beaten and delirious. The claim that she had been brought to the steps of the Cardinal's home half a world away from the ghettos of America by an angel had caused much speculation about Sharon's state of mind.

Bauer let it pass. If anything, it was proof to the Inquisitor-General that God still watched over His children.

Sharon, however, was not without her flaws. The same loyalty she gave to the Church she also gave to her foster-father. The younger girl had grown into womanhood inspired by the stories told of her guardian's heroism. Bauer, despite hating Wesley, could not deny the fact that her enemy had once been a hero. To do so would be to deny the fact that once upon a time, she shared the same dream.

The young female captain of the Pursuer Team was weaned on the stories of her guardian, but the Inquisitor-General had been there when those stories were made. The latter had witnessed the awesome power of the St. Michael Paladins as they crossed swords with the servants of the Adversary.

Bauer remembered the agony of her dream to be part of that elite Exorcist team crushed when the previous Inquisitor-General accused Wesley and his team of heresy and devil-worship. Galford Christchurch, Bauer's predecessor, had provided the Inner Council with damning evidence that the Paladin Master had collaborated with the enemy. The charges split the Inquisition into two factions.

One side wanted to bring Wesley in for trial; the opposition wanted to wipe the betrayer from the face of the Earth. In the end, the Pope broke the deadlock by ordering the Inquisition to bring Wesley back to face charges. Over 3 dozen Exorcist teams went sent out. Each and every one was subsequently destroyed.

Bauer grimaced, remembering the testimonial given by Wesley during the Trial. Shateiel, the Crimson Angel of the St. Michael Paladins, had fled with the broken sword of Lucifer. He had betrayed them all at the last minute. Wesley told them that Shateiel had once, before he became part of the Order of St. Michael, been one of Hell's most promising mortal generals. The Crimson Angel had been raised and groomed to lead the army of the Baroness Cameela. It was clear, through his actions, that Shateiel had never abandoned the oath of fealty he swore to the demoness that had been companion and lover.

When the matter of Galford's murder was brought up, Wesley told them that Shateiel had planned it in advance to cripple God's mortal army by striking down the only person who was a threat to the Morningstar's plans. Also, Wesley added that while the broken sword of the Morningstar was a potent weapon, it had one other - more sinister - purpose.

It was because of this that the servants of God scoured the world for the fallen paladin before he shatterd the barriers separating Hell and Earth, thereby ushering in the Apocalypse. But, ten years ago, there was a sign that that this was not to be. The Oracles of Delphi and the Seer of the Stars whispered the same words: _'The fallen paladin is dead, but the threat has yet to pass. The broken blade is an inheritance, and a curse is bestowed upon an innocent soul touched by the darkness.'_

It took some deciphering as to what that meant but it was clear to all that the Dawn Breaker had been passed to some poor fool who did not realize that the possession of the sword was a death sentence in more ways than one. But...therein lies the other part of the problem. The demon sword only recognized those who served its master - or those that could further its master's plans.

The sword could either be in the hands of one of Satan's minions or an unwilling dupe. Bauer would put her money on it being in the hands of the former. Now, all she had to do was to find where exactly that miserable piece of shit was hiding and she would bring all 7 Orders of the Inquisition down on him (or her).

But what if the sword's bearer was an unwilling dupe? An innocent who had no idea of the power or the plans of the sword's original owner? What would she do? Kill him like she killed every other devil-worshipper?

Bauer swore beneath her breath as the question rose in her mind and she cursed the person who had done so. Cardinal Wesley had pointedly asked her during the Conclave of the 7 Orders what if the sword was in the hands of an innocent, and Bauer felt a bitter rage towards this man she had once revered as her hero. She replied that if that innocent was fully in the thrall of Evil, then he or she would be slain. If not, it may well fall to that outcome as the sword's unholy power would scar the spirit of that innocent to the point that it would leave its wielder a broken, mewling wreck. And in that state, death would be a mercy.

Wesley had departed soon after, but not before fixing a gaze on Bauer that almost had her reaching for her Runefang. There was a pity in his gaze that cut deeper and hurt more than any wound she had suffered in her years of service.

That son of a bitch dared to pity her?

Her, a daughter of an aristocratic family whose line could be traced back to the Dark Ages? Her, who had become a squad commander in the Militia at the age of 15? Her, who became Inquisitor-General at the age of 20?

He dared to pity her? She did not need his pity!

Bauer quickly took control of her temper before it impaired her logical reasoning. She would need it when she faced the Council later on and she knew herself well enough that her rages would last for days if let loose. And with things as dire as they already were, the last thing the Inquisition needed was having its commander off her rocker.

Bauer rubbed her forehead, trying to stave off the headache that came with her trying to control her rages. It did not, however, blunt her preternaturally sharp senses. Even before her unseen guest knocked on the door leading to her office, the crimson-robed and mantled Inquisitor-General bade her guest to enter.

The oak door opened to reveal a woman in her late 20s, holding in her slender arms a tray with 2 cups of hot tea and 2 plates of food. Bauer smiled and nodded to the woman in greeting. The latter was Gaeriel Hastings, a Class-A2 Exorcist of the Order of the Scourge and one of its 10 commanders. Gaeriel was also Bauer's childhood friend, even though their personalities were polar opposites. The air of liveliness and playful warmth in Gaeriel was a sharp contrast to the Inquisitor-General's regal, aristocratic bearing.

"I've brought breakfast, Bauer. I take it you'd want something to eat before you face the Council later this afternoon," Gaeriel said as she set down the tray, "Oh...I've brought some aspirin also."

"Thanks, Ariel," Bauer said as she took poured herself a glass of water from the nearby flask and helped herself to the pills.

"You're welcome," Gaeriel replied, wincing as she took note of the number of pills that her friend had taken, "Now, I know you want me to tell you what has happened in your absence, but can we do this after breakfast? And after you get that temper of yours under full control? I don't want to have to suffer a broken jaw."

Bauer glared at her friend. No doubt she had already heard of the incident where she had cleaned the clock of the Swiss Guard captain who had tried to flirt with her earlier this morning. Thank God she had disabled her Disciplines or the blow would have torn the man's head off - literally.

The Inquisitor-General sat down with a huff and started helping herself to the meal. It was when she was done that Gaeriel asked Bauer to explain what had happened during the disastrous Indonesian mission. The Inquisitor-General tugged at her long ringlets as she did so, and the telling caused even the cheery Gaeriel to turn pale.

When Bauer was through, Gaeriel found herself studying her reflection in the tea's glassy surface. The Church had faced Bloodthirsters before, but none as powerful as the one Bauer and her teams had faced down. The Inquisitor-General had classified the monstrous fallen Angel of Beasts she had faced as a Category 4 demon.

Gaeriel shivered. Demons higher than Category 3 were few and far between. The cracks on the rebel angels' eternal prison were not large enough to allow the more powerful Fallen to escape. Those that wanted to break through the barriers separating Hell and Earth had little choice but to surrender much of their power before even making the attempt. But what if those cracks were, in fact, getting wider? If these fell spirits were able to step onto the mortal plane, how much longer before the viceroys of the Morningstar crossed over? How long before the Prince of the Fallen himself did so?

Unlike the first Rapture a thousand years ago, this one had stirred up a hornet's nest of supernatural activity. With the collapse of the vampiric sect of the Camarilla at the hands of its enemy and the subsequent were-beast hunt of the night-walkers, the Gladius Dei - or the Militia, as they were commonly known - had their resources stretched to near breaking point in having to contain the explosion of supernatural violence. It was a simple matter to mask the violence as gang riots and police action, but it was only a matter of time before some nosy reporter out to make a name for herself found out.

Gaeriel cursed the were-beasts' lack of self-control and common sense. When vampires died, they crumbled to ashes; when were-beasts died, they left behind enormous, furry, ten-foot corpses for everyone to see. If the Masquerade came crashing down, she knew who would be responsible it! As if the vampires' inherent panic didn't make matters worse...

"So, Gaeriel," Bauer spoke as she finished her third cup of tea, "tell me what has happened while my back was turned."

The purple-haired Scourge Commander rolled her eyes, "I've got good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?"

Bauer chose the former.

"Okay. Here's what I got," and Gaeriel took out a small notebook, flipped it to a certain page and began, "I've managed to assemble 12-fully strengthened teams from the survivors of the 3rd battalion of the Gladius Dei. They'll be operationally ready in a week. Also, to bolster them, I've assembled support teams from the Swiss Guard. I've done checks on them, so you need not worry about leaks. We have the equivalent of 23 fully-strengthened support teams in reserve.

"On our supply front, the arms shipment has come in," and Gaeriel tore out a page from her notebook and handed it to Bauer, "That there holds is what came in. Also, the Master of Forges has finished the construction of several Banisher swords, enough to equip 5 kill-teams, as well as enough blessed rounds to equip all 7 Orders 3 times over. The Master of Rituals has completed the Throne-class barriers you requested. He guarantees that they have the power to cripple even a Category 6 demon, though he...requests that you do not test matters by going after anything higher than that."

The Inquisitor-General twitched, mentally throwing the Master of Ritual's name onto her shit list. He made the 700th entry. The rest of the 699 names were all 'Cardinal Wesley'.

"Also," Gaeriel continued, smiling inwardly, "to maximize operational efficiency, I've had to re-deploy all of our strike-teams on European, American and Asian soil. Now, don't look at me like that. You would have done the same. Do you want to deal with the consequence of a total Masquerade collapse?"

"Are you looking for the chance to piss on my grave, Gaeriel?" Bauer asked, menace lacing her polite tone.

"Bauer, dear girl, I would do more than piss on your grave. You have caused my Order and the Foreign Relations Department a headache the likes you wouldn't believe. No one - not even that Wesley! - can give me this much trouble, but you always, always exceed our expectations. Do you have any idea how much it cost us just to shut the mouths of the Indonesian government?"

Bauer was smart enough not to ask. The Finance Department of the Inquisition was on the verge of lynching her and had a shit list with her name so long that she was surprised that the Almighty had yet to slam her with a lawsuit. The Foreign Affairs Department were close to burning her in effigy, if not in person. And Gaeriel had the look of one who was more than willing to do the honours herself.

"I'm sorry but it's not as if that demon gave me much choice. It was either I used that spell or end up being another head on its trophy rack," Bauer said calmly, "And trust me...I had exhausted all of my options. Even that idiot would have done as I had."

Gaeriel shook her head and studied her friend's profile. No prizes on guessing which idiot Bauer was describing. For all the fact that the blonde woman hated Wesley, there was no question that the admiration that had caused her to aspire to be part of the Order of St. Michael was still there. Even though older, Gaeriel had seen Wesley in combat to know that the aged Paladin Master was still as powerful now as he was then.

And, Gaeriel added mentally, dealing with Cardinal Wesley was a lot easier than dealing with a temperamental Inquisitor-General who was almost as powerful.

The Scourge Commander waved her hands, "Regardless, it's not my place to tell you off. That, I leave to the Inner Council. But before the flay the skin from your back, I'll have to do it to you first. You ready?"

Bauer inclined her head.

"Okay, some two weeks back, High Inquisitor Jennifer Drake and her Sagittarius Exorcist team just got creamed royally. I stress the word 'royally'. She's been hospitalized with a broken back - which we managed to heal - and several broken ribs. Jennifer was one inch away from being a devil's fuck toy when someone stepped in and saved her life," Gaeriel started, "From what I could get out of her, her knight in shining armour was one of ours. Most likely Ophanim, considering the powers he used. I checked if there had been any of your people in the county, and came up with nothing. So either we have an independent Ophanim running around, or there is a renegade. I highly suspect the latter."

"Why so?"

"Outside of the vampires of the Lancea Sanctum, only Ophanim know how to cast Theban Sorcery. And Jennifer's rescuer had a Hellfire version of the Fiery Lash."

Bauer looked confused. Never once in its long history had the Order of the Ophanim ever had one of its own struck from its ranks. But who was it? The Inquisitor-General shook her head. She would deal with this later when she had the time. The fact that Jennifer Drake, a High Inquisitor, had been kicked from Hell to high water had been hard to swallow.

But Gaeriel wasn't through with her yet.

"And Jennifer's not the only one."

Bauer could only stare.

"Paladin Master Deneb Sinclair and her Aquarius team were annihilated. We found their bodies. Deneb was not as lucky as Jennifer was to have someone save her at the last minute. Her enemies had their fun with her before they cut her throat."

The tea-cup Bauer had been holding was reduced to powder as a howling fury erupted in the Inquisitor-General's soul, "What? When...?"

"4 days ago in New York. Archbishop Geoffrey believes that Deneb's killers were vampires belonging to the Belial's Brood faction," and Gaeriel took a deep breath, "And she's not the only one. Almost 2/3 of your Constellation Exorcist teams have either been wiped out or decimated."

Bauer was stunned into silence as Gaeriel finished, "I'll give you the reports later, because frankly I don't want to read them anymore. Bauer, that Rapture we saw in March may well be a Doomsday forecast - capital D. Our enemies are now more powerful than ever. We've teams facing attacks in regions which we cleared of God's enemies. I've even got a memo from Prophetess Constance herself saying that the vampires' Ancient are one step from waking up."

Bauer did not answer for a long time, a clear sign to Gaeriel that her friend was slowly digesting and analyzing the data that she had given her. When she spoke, it was with but one question, "Gaeriel, did Prophetess Constance speak about the Dawn Breaker?"

The Scourge Commander shook her head.

"Tell the Prophetess that I want to know where the sword of Lucifer is, because if we don't find the Avatar before Christmas, we will have lost the war. The enemies we face are a lesser threat in the face of God's Enemy. Should the Great Beast step onto the mortal plane, it will take a miracle of biblical proportions to cast him back into the Pit."

"Bauer, I do not deny that finding the Avatar is important, but you're missing the point here. We are stretched thin across the globe. To search for the Avatar will require not only the assistance of the Seer Councils, but the assistance of every Convent and Watch Tower across the globe. We can ill-afford to pull Militia teams and reserve Exorcist units from where they're needed the most."

The Inquisitor-General could not refute her second's reasoning. Even in Indonesia where she came from, the stronghold of the Jihadia was under siege, and the Twin Fortresses in Singapore - the lynchpin of the region - was struggling to coordinate the defences of the countries surrounding it.

Bauer sighed in frustration, "If that is the case, I will work with what I have. First and foremost, I will need the assistance of the Seer Councils. If the Inner Circle has a problem with me appropriating them for my hunt, tell them to take it up with me personally."

"And you know they will," Gaeriel replied, "But tell me one thing, Bauer. When you find the Avatar, what are you going to do to him?"

"Whatever needs to be done. I but do God's Will," Bauer replied as she stood up and smoothed her robes, "Tell Constance I wish to speak with her, and that it is a matter of the gravest urgency."

Gaeriel nodded, and watched her friend leave the room before allowing herself to tremble. She quickly pulled out a handphone from her pocket and sent a message to a person that she knew was several steps ahead of Bauer in his search for the Avatar of the Morningstar. The Scourge Commander prayed that he would get there before Bauer did, for the latter would show no mercy to the innocent whose only sin was to be born.

When she was done, the phone on the table rang. Gaeriel answered it.

On the other end of the line was Prophetess Constance, the leader of the Oracles of Delphi.

**X X X X X X**

_**Cemetery of the Blessed, Rome, Sunday, 17th September 1999, 1700 hrs**_

A well-built, dark-haired man stood before 11 graves, all of which he knew held no bodies. There were none to be buried. Each and every one had died 20 years ago in a foreign land, and any chance their compatriots had to recover their bodies had been virtually nil.

The man took in the cold, fresh air heavy with the scent of freshly-cut grass and sakura petals - the last drifting from trees brought over from Japan as a gift for those that slept beneath them. He ran a hand on the cold marble blocks, decorated gloriously with the emblem of the Order of St. Michael, and lowered a white rose on every last one.

"Sleep well, my friends. From here till eternity comes to an end, sleep the sleep of the just, and know that God forgives all your transgressions," the man said, softly, before standing before the grave bearing the name of Huimin Chen, "Yes, Huimin, I did find what I was looking for. Now, I will have to pay the last instalment. Don't worry, I'm up to it."

He turned about to see a beautiful woman with a thick, crimson mane stride up to him. She was clad in a tight, racing suit, the zip drawn low to reveal an ample amount of cleavage and a hint of the bra she wore beneath.

"Are you done?" the woman asked, nodding respectfully towards the graves.

"I am. Where to, now?"

"America. We have to meet with some old friends, my love. Something is happening downstairs, and I don't like what I'm hearing."

**X X X X X X**

_**Kiyamachi entertainment district, Tsukikage Nightclub, Kyoto, Sunday, 16th September 1999, 1830 hrs**_

Katsuragi Misato tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for her cousin to arrive. She had rushed down to her favourite watering hole where they were supposed to meet only to find that the latter had yet to arrive. This, the purple-haired goddess thought, was uncharacteristic of her silver-maned counterpart. Never once in all the years Misato knew her had her cousin ever been late - especially when it was the latter who had set the time and place for a meeting.

She had either gotten herself lost or gotten into trouble. The former was unlikely as her cousin had visited Kyoto many times before. And if it were the latter, Misato would hear about it sooner or latter in the form of a police report - provided that the person who moved her cousin to ire was alive to make one. Beneath that calm, courteous exterior, Misato's cousin was walking death and angering her could lead one's lifespan being measured in seconds.

A soft murmur from the nightclub's entrance caused Misato to turn and her jaw to hit the floor. There, striding into the nightclub's interiors, was her cousin - clad in a dress of all things! Misato shook her head, but the vision did not change.

Her conservative cousin was wearing a dress and, boy, did she look good in one! The number of heads she turned as she entered the nighclub was proof that even with the scars, Katsuragi Tsubaki was still beautiful. Her relatives had not been far off when they compared their scarred daughter to the fabled Moon Princess Kaguya - right down to her temper.

Misato stood up and waved her cousin over before some unfortunate soul got a kick between wind and water. Her cousin strode over, declining invitations and offers for drinks and companionship. Most of them - wisely, in Misato's eyes - did not press the issue.

"What took you so long, Tsu-chan?" Misato started.

"I'm sorry. There were some things I had to see to before coming," the silver-haired priestess replied as she took a seat opposite her cousin, "It couldn't be helped. I haven't been there for the past 3 years and I wanted to speak to him before I came."

Misato nodded, finally understanding the reason why her cousin had dolled herself up. She did not fully know the details of the relationship Tsubaki had with a married man, but she knew that it wouldn't be anything adulterous. Her silver-haired cousin was not the sort to go sleeping around just because she felt like it.

"How's Ikari-kun doing?" Tsubaki asked, pausing briefly to place an order with a passing bar-girl, before returning her attention on her blushing cousin. Misato's retort stopped behind her teeth when she realized that the question her cousin had posed was nothing more than that.

"He's doing okay," Misato replied as she took another sip from her beer glass, "Neither his father nor his enemies have gotten around to sending their people after us. At least, not yet. I hope it stays that way."

Misato's mind returned to the time she spoke with Shinji about her sex life, and she felt ashamed that someone so young had to hear so sordid a story. The purple-haired goddess had many lovers, but why was it that she could not keep one? Was she viewed by so many men as an easy lay and nothing more?

Shinji did not say a word, but had chosen to instead rub her head as a father would to comfort his upset daughter. That gesture spoke volumes that had warmed Misato's heart. The smile tha curved her lips, though brief, was something that lingered in her aura long after it passed. Tsubaki did not miss the flickering colours of love, fear, uncertainty and hope that shone in her cousin's aura.

The priestess nodded approvingly. Her prejudices aside, she could see that Misato was changing, thanks to the influence of a boy almost half her age. Misato reminded Tsubaki of Shateiel's wife - the lovely, passionate Shihana. In so many ways, both women were the same - wild, passionate and free. She was so unlike them. Where Tsubaki would stop to consider the consequences, Misato would not hesitate to plunge straight in. Where she would have stood where she was and enjoyed the wind's soft touch, Shihana would be there chasing it.

Tsubaki let out a sigh before facing Misato, "I think it's best we dispense with any small talk and get down to business, Mi-chan. We have much to talk about. I think you know the reason why I'm here."

"I can hazard a guess. The Kiyamachi murders, correct?"

The priestess nodded, "That, and a few other things our family's spy network have uncovered these last few months. But first, let us talk about the murders that have been happening here. How many have been killed already?"

"5. The last one less than 2 days ago," Misato replied.

"Connections?"

"None. All save one had two things in common. One, they were of the social elite. Two, each and every one of them had a list of dealings and...preferences that would have ruined their reputation and hauled to court had they been made public. Also, Forensics has proved that all the murders were done by the same person. All of them have 3-inch claw marks on them and limbs that were most likely _torn_ from their bodies without cutting implements. I had to lie about that, saying that the murderer might have utilised portable saws and sharpened knives to do that, but I don't think that is the case, Tsu-chan. Lastly, prior to all of that, there were indications that they have been tortured. No human could have done this, Tsu-chan. That much is evident."

"Did you mention this to your superior?" Tsubaki asked, pausing briefly as her order arrived.

"Are you mad? If I did, the Inspector would have thrown me into the nearest mental institution before I even finished. I don't even want to tell those that agree that the Slayer is a monster that monsters do exist," Misato replied, pouring the champagne into the glass, "But, you're the expert on them, cousin. You tell me what exactly it is I'm dealing with here. A vampire? A were-beast? What?"

Tsubaki sipped her champagne, "Common sense would tell me that it would either be a vampire possessing similar abilities to that of the Gangrel clan, or a _hengeyokai_. Both have abilities which allow them to do what the Slayer has done. But, there are discrepancies in the killings that tell me that neither of them may have been responsible. Consider this: would a vampire _ever_ leave a single drop of blood in its victims? Never. And were-beasts never torture their prey in the fashion that the Slayer has done."

"So what is it am I dealing with?" Misato asked.

Tsubaki was silent for a good 5 minutes before she finally spoke, "I have reason to believe that the _shen_ we are dealing with may well be a Fallen Angel."

Misato felt her blood freeze. She had dealt with vampires and their servants before, but the rebel angels of the Unholy Host was another story entirely. Even the lowest-ranking devil possessed the power capable of reducing an entire SWAT team into a charred heap. And their mortal servants, bearing a fraction of their master's power, were easily the equals of their counterparts who served the night-walkers.

"Tsu-chan...did you come to Kyoto to hunt them?" Misato asked.

The silver-haired priestess merely sipped her champagne, and Misato nodded at the subtle reply. The former was here for another - better - reason, and woe betide the foolish creature that dared to arouse her ire.

"Ahh...one last thing, Mi-chan," Tsubaki spoke, "Is it possible if I move in with you? A friend of mine has entrusted me to take care of his home while he is away, but I have yet to talk to the person who has the key."

Misato shrugged, "I don't mind, but please don't scare my Shinji-kun. You're as scary as Tsuruko and you know it."

Tsubaki merely chuckled.

**X X X X X X**

_**17th September 1999, Egypt, Cairo City, Hilton Hotel, Sunday, 1230 hrs**_

Cardinal Wesley Tan sat at a table in the main breakfast room, looking through the journal of the man who had shattered the warded chains that had bound the sanctified gates that had kept the undying malice of God's enemy imprisoned and prevented any of his servants from claiming that which he had bound in its fiery depths.

Jeanette's father, the esteemed Professor, James Dover, could not have foreseen the consequences of his actions. How could he? He was not privy to the blasphemous knowledge that the Vatican had kept under lock, key and holy ward. How could anyone have known beforehand that what the Israeli Reconnaisance team had uncovered was the legendary citadel-fortress of the Morningstar himself? No one could...and it was not until several days into the dig did Inquisitorial agents confirm it.

The St. Michael paladins were sent in and the rest was history. A history where the truth was hidden beneath a blanket of lies and where a gamble - if lost - would doom humanity to a tortured existence as grist in the rituals that would allow the Fallen to remake Creation in their nightmarish image.

The Cardinal closed his eyes, and his mind remembered vividly the very instant he had stepped foot within the unholy fortress. He remembered the weight of the mountain pressing down about him, and the abyssal darkness that hid blasphemous secrets and latent horror. The sightless eyes of statues crafted by inhuman hands stared back at him through time and space.

Those statues had been made to honour the champions of the Adversary's army. He knew the names and recognised the faces of a good number of those statues, despite the fact that an equally good number were a far cry from the angels they had been before. Many of those he had crossed swords with and had either banished back to Hell, or consigned to Final Death.

Many of those that eluded destruction swore that they would return and take revenge.

No doubt, to return to the Holy Land was to risk a confrontation with those that he had banished. Only this time, he would only have Aoshi - one of the two survivors of the St. Michael Paladins - to back him up. He would not have the dauntless might of Ezekiel nor would he be able to rely of the fearlessness of stern, unflappable Lisa guarding his back. Nor would he have his mentor or Silvana guiding him and giving him advice.

But, if either of them were still alive, they would have told him that if he were lost, all he ever needed to do was return to where it all began and start from there.

Only this time...he was racing against the clock.

Cameela had told him about a deliberate translation error regarding the Prophecy of the Avatar in a small, but old, book she sent his way before he had left England. It had been written by an obscure Church historian in the days preceding the fall of Constantinople centuries ago. The baroness had left a small note stating that there were 12 Avatars, each corresponding with the numbers on a clock.

Each had been born in the 7 years from the night when Shateiel had taken Lucifer's broken sword from the latter's citadel, each at the designated time. That would mean that the oldest of the Avatars would be at least 20 and the youngest no more than 13. Wesley remembered Prophetess Constance of the Oracles of Delphi telling him that for those 7 years, Heaven was shrouded in darkness. 12 times in those 7 years had the crimson star appeared.

The star had shone briefly, but when Shateiel perished all those years ago in a car accident, the crimson star had shone brighter than it ever had, and the celestial phenomena known as the Eye of God glared down upon a doomed world.

In subtle undertones, however, Cameela had also added that there was another way - outside of killing them - to prevent the Prince of the Fallen from incarnating within his chosen Avatars. Should they be within holy ground at the time when the dimensional walls were at their weakest, the Morningstar's plan to cross over would backfire almost instantaneously.

The Cardinal turned his attention back to the journal, noting the days when Professor Dover and his entourage had reached the Golan Heights dig-site and the people they met there. The official excavation had started only a week after their arrival, as the military had to transport several heavy construction vehicles over to the excavation site.

Wesley studied the inscriptions and drawings that the late professor had taken down. Those that he could complete told stories of mighty rebel angels who had been elevated to positions of leadership in the Unholy Host. Each of those stories were stories of bloodshed and horror, glorifying the strength of fell spirits whose hatred and lust for humanity had transformed them into a perversion of the beings they once were.

Shateiel had, long ago, told him about the most monstrous of these beings. The former had crossed path and swords with both them and their mortal servants when he had served Cameela. Names such as Vakiel, the Harbringer of Sorrow, and Efra'kael, the Corruptor of Sanctity, had been some of those spirits the he had consigned to Final Death. The reigning Lords of Hell could have done away with these monsters, but the fact that they were undeniably potent in battle (and many other arenas, besides) saw to their continued existence and elevation.

As the pages wore on, Wesley saw the slow, downward spiral of a good man into the waiting arms of evil. Where the earlier entries held logical reasoning and solutions to several obstacles, the latter entries were befitting one whose descent into the pit of madness had reached the point of no return.

Drawings that the Cardinal found familiar, and which he remembered as he descended into the lower levels of the Adversary's stronghold, soon gave way to horrific images of debauchery and mayhem that could be seen in one's worst nightmare. Images of women being raped, men being tortured, and children be sacrificed filled the pages. Each held images of leering devils - male and female - who relished making the children of Adam and his lovers suffer for the sin of existence.

But, when he turned another page, the loathing of the Fallen gave way to shock that all but paralyzed him.

There, on that page, was the familiar image of a battle fought in New York's slums 25 years ago. The familiar drawings of a younger Tsubaki sending lightning bolts and Ezekiel swinging his great hammer were respledent on that drawing. Predominating it was him, in his Cherubim Divine Aspect, as they clashed against a Keeper of Secrets who had been responsible for the sacrifice of street orphans and a growing drug empire.

Another page showed a struggle in China against a corrupted Forest Spirit. They had been aided by the were-beasts of the region.

In another, a fight in the Phillipines as they sent another Fallen overlord back to Hell.

As he flipped each page, his memories returned to him, as vivid as the day when he had led the St. Michael Paladins to war against the unholy. Faces long gone returned, sharper than ever, and conversations two decades old were replayed in his memory.

**_'When you are lost, my love, all you need to do is go back to where you started.'_**

Wesley smiled sadly as Silvana's soft voice whispered through the ages to a soul that was all too familiar with human sorrow.

He stared down at the picture he had turned to. The final parting of the survivors of the Order. Wesley had to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over. Shateiel had been right. Scars heal, but never fade away. Sometimes, they will bleed forever. One cannot deny the pain lest they deny the memory. And at this point, the former Paladin Master closed the book. He could not bear to turn the other page - at least, not now.

"Master Wesley? Are you all right?" came a familiar voice to his side. Wesley turned to see Rafa behind him, holding a tray of food.

Wesley nodded, "Don't worry. I was just remembering the past. So how go our arrangements?"

The young Egyptian woman rolled her eyes, "Delayed due to unforeseen circumstances. We have no choice but to use an alternate route if we want to avoid any more of such...unwanted problems."

Rafa's emphasis on the last two words of her sentence confirmed Wesley's suspicions. There were Militia agents amidst the Egyptian and Israeli border guards. If they so much as saw him or Jeanette, the game was over. It had been thanks to Cameela's vast resources that they had been able to elude those based in Britain. The switch tactic was the oldest one in the book, but it would buy him precious time.

But the current obstacle would very well use the breathing space he had been given. He ran over what few options he had left, discarding them if they got too risky or used up too much time. That left him with but one option. It was risky, but it was the only viable alternative.

"We'll have to wait till Sings-the-Dawn arrives for what I have in mind. Until then, we have to settle our travel papers. Rafa, when Morrigan wakes up, tell her I will need her help 'convincing' the Duty Officers on both sides of the border to clear our documents," Wesley said as he finished his tea, "Now then...has Arles done what I told him to do?"

**X X X X X X**

_**18th September 1999, Japan, Kyoto City, Kyoto High School, Class 2-4, Monday, 1215 hrs**_

Makoto plonked his weary body on the table, glad that the lunch hour had finally come. He had had a late night yesterday, abd his body was on the verge of shutting down. He had lost count of how many times he had almost fallen asleep in the past 3 hours, but the playful glances of Saori-sensei warned him that if his eyes so much as closed, he was in for it. Kendo practice the day before had been hell and the fact that he had to work after that had not made matters any easier.

His aunt had given him a massage after they had closed for the night, and he remembered the feel of her fingers tracing the many scars on his back. He remembered seeing her face in the mirror, sad and pensive. The accident that had made him an orphan had left him with scars she called 'Angel scars'. The other lacerations had been caused by the Mikage family patriarch's wooden cane, punishing a boy who loved his memories more than honour.

He felt them burn like fire when he came face-to-face with the person who had given him those scars. The arrogant - almost contemptuous - gaze of the elderly Mikage family patriarch had stoked the embers of Makoto's fury. The passing remark of him being nothing more than the child of a prostitute had almost all but seen to him drawing his _bokken_ to send the old fucker straight to Satan - with compliments. Had Sophia not been there...

He sighed, before smiling. The image of the golden-haired foreigner smiling at him, meeting his grey eyes with her blue ones, telling him to let go of his rage, returned to him. Sophia was right. What **_was_** the point?

All things considered, being the son of a prostitute was a higher status than any the Mikage family could bestow. Unlike many who were or related to the Mikage family, Makoto was by no way beholden to an asshole who had both feet in the ferry and who himself was no better than a slave himself.

Just like his mother, he would free to live the way she had. His mother had been free, wild and spirited. Meeting his father had allowed her to touch a heaven she could only dream of, and brought with it the desire to share it all with her own children. Had she chosen to remain chained to the Mikage family as her sister - his aunt - had done...Makoto would never have been the child of the man he had been glad to call father.

He would be the son of some government official or influential figure, the end result of an arranged political marriage. Would the same fate befall Kasumi or his aunt? Or even Yuki-san? It was only a matter of time, and Makoto felt a cold rage flood his veins. The penchant for the Mikage family to secure political alliances through such means had yet to be discarded.

The image of his strong-willed cousin and his stubborn aunt being screwed by men they did not know or love was enough to cause the acidic hate in his soul to almost overflow.

A familiar, perky voice greeting him and a hard slap on his back caused Makoto to jump up with a curse. Only two people in the entire school dared to do that to him without fear of retribution. Both of them were girls. And only one dared to it with such force.

He raised his head to glare into the grinning face of one Tokiya Marimo, "Are you trying to kill me, baka?"

"Of course I am. Not that I have succeeded. And besides, if I did, I would have a every girl in your fan-club howling for my blood," Tokiya chuckled as she sat herself across him and put a plastic bag full of food on the table.

Makoto chuckled. A fan-club? Him? If there was a joke that made his day, that would be it. Ever since that incident regarding Ruri, he could count on one hand the number of girls willing to risk their reputation by having their names and his in a conversation.

"I find that hard to believe that I have one, Mari-chan," Makoto said as he pulled up a packed sandwich, "Mind if I have one?"

Tokiya nodded, hearing the pain hidden beneath the nonchalant cheer in her friend's voice. When it was there, she knew the cause of it: Ruri Hayase, Makoto's first love. She remembered the pain as Makoto sobbed like a broken child that day as he told her what had happened. In that broken sound was the anguish of a boy denied justice and who felt the pain of another. Kasumi had been there as well, offering what comfort she could. Tokiya could remember the image of the stalwart, emerald-haired girl shivering, unable to believe that the only person she could identify herself with could break like that.

The scar from that day had never healed, and the fact that Sahaka had not been punished had caused it to fester. The fact that the Mikage family had pulled strings so that their eldest scion would not be charged in court and tarnish the family's reputation had only served to enrage Makoto and caused several members of the influential family to avoid the Head House altogether.

The aftermath had been just as bad, and it had given the entire school a taste of what happened when Makoto snapped. Suffice to say, it had not been pretty. The school's Rumour Mill did a jam-brake after that display of fury.

"Oy, Tokiya...what's wrong?" Makoto asked, snapping the brown-haired girl out of her thoughts.

"Sorry, just thinking..." and she reached into the plastic bag to pull out a sandwich, only to realise that there were none left. Tokiya scowled in Makoto's direction when she saw that the latter had an unwrapped sandwich - the last one! - halfway to his mouth. The look in his eyes caused Tokiya to develope an anger cross.

"Makoto...I suggest you hand over that sandwich before I make you look like the Slayer's next victim," the brown-haired girl said coolly, the promise of agony lacing every word that passed her lips.

"There already was one 4 days ago," Makoto replied, handing Tokiya the sandwich, "This time, the victim was a woman. Late 30s, found hanging from a meat hook in the local abattoir. She had been violated before she had been ripped to pieces. Did you hear?"

"Yes. How could I not? Everyone in the neighbourhood was talking about it! It's hard not to know. _Kami-sama,_ this makes the what? The 4th one?"

"5th."

"Did Shinichi tell you anything?"

Makoto nodded, "_Hai_. I told you that the woman had been violated before she had been killed, didn't I? The killer left some...evidence behind. Unfortunately, it was so contaminated that Police Forensics had been unable to analyze it. But they confirm that the Slayer is a male."

Tokiya finished her sandwich before pulling out a boxed drink from the bag, "That aside...how's your project going, Makoto-kun?"

"Good. What with all the ideas Shinichi and I have been generating, I've been able to finish Chapter 6."

"Already? Wow. Can I read it?"

"Sure," he grinned, "Provided you drop by _Tsuki_ when you're free."

Tokiya twitched. Did Makoto have a death wish written somewhere? "Are you trying to pull a fast one on me, Kusakabe-san?"

"Of course, I am," came the matter-of-fact reply, "Did you really think I would let you have a copy for free?"

That did it! No one tries to make a fool of Tokiya Marimo and lives long enough to tell the tale - childhood friend or no!

A halisen connected with Makoto's head, almost sending the latter ass over teakettle. The sound caused more than a dozen eyes to turn in their direction, Okita to slap his head in exasperation and a pair of enterprising students to start taking bets on who would win the ensuing fight.

Makoto's angry glare looked more at home on a devil than on a human, "Damn it, Toki! That hurt!"

"And it should! That should teach you, baka! No one pulls a fast one on me and lives long enough to regret it!" Tokiya fired back, "If there's anyone in this school who's going to pull a fast one around here, buster, it's me! Got that?"

"With an attitude like yours, I would not even bother making the effort! You'd kill me before I even finish! Thank God you're not working in my aunt's restaurant; you'd kill every customer who so much as looked you the wrong way!"

Tokiya flinched. Was he implying that she was ugly?

"Are you trying to say I'm ugly, Makoto-chan?" Tokiya asked, fury lacing every word as she swung her halisen back and forth. Makoto drew his bokken out. Students within 5 feet of them started getting out of the way.

"Ugly? No. Stupid? Yes."

Tokiya growled, "I'm going to kill you, Makoto..."

"Bring it on, _oni-hime!_"

Makoto's classmates gave them more room...

...and a familiar voice, rich in amusement, caused the two gladiators to break their gaze, "Out of a fight and into another, Makoto-kun? Do you delight in making a long line longer?"

Eyes that had been riveted to the impending fight between the two friends soon fixed upon the lean form of Lilith leaning against the sliding door. Her crimson eyes were bright with humour as she turned her gaze to Makoto's enterprising classmates who had all but frozen when they heard her voice.

"I see that both you and Ohgami-san are up to your old tricks, Kamiya-kun," Lilith said, the suffix of '_kun'_ causing Makoto's classmate to flush and countless eyes to glare at the bespectacled young man, "But I would advice you to run while you still can. Masako-san found out that the 'rare' book you got for her was nothing more than a forgery. She's...very angry."

Kamiya Hotaru and Ohgami Imada exchanged looks when a feminine shriek of rage that was heard over the lunch-hour din howling their names soon had the two students scampering for the door with their takings. Makoto's other classmates were having none of it and, demanding a refund, joined an enraged bookworm armed with a baseball bat in her chase of the two class swindlers.

Makoto and Tokiya turned to see Lilith striding towards them. The German girl held out a book the both of them recognised all too well.

**_Circle of the Fallen Book 2: Shadow War._**

"A most excellent book," Lilith said as she laid the book on Makoto's desk, "The best I have read in a very long time. The task is monumental, but I see you have risen to the challenge. You cannot deceive me, Makoto-kun. Half of the story was done by you, was it not?"

Makoto nodded.

"And from what I hear, you're trying to finish the last book?"

Another nod.

"Your father would be proud."

_'It's all I can do to ensure that he never fades from my memory, Lilith-san.' _"W-where did you get this, Lilith-san?" Makoto asked, inspecting the book, "This look like Saori-sensei's copy..."

"It is hers," the German girl admitted, "I borrowed it from her several days back. But since she will be back only after lunch...I suppose I have little choice but to ask you to help me return it."

"Help you?" Makoto's voice was a squeak, "Lilith-san...are you trying to kill me? As in really, _really_ kill me? You know..."

A finger on Makoto's lips silenced him, "I know, Kusakabe-kun. Just help me return the book and leave before she tries to get...frisky..." and she drew closer till their faces were inches apart. As they were now, closer than when they fought each other during kendo practice, Makoto could see how red Lilith's eyes were. The feeling of her breath on his skin was tender, promising things he could only see in a wet dream.

"Because, Makoto-kun...you are mine, and I will never let anyone - or anything - have you!" and she closed the distance, placing one hand behind Makoto's head and one under his chin to prevent him from escaping. The kiss caused the remaining students in the class - including Okita - to freeze and caused jaws to hit the floor with enough force to register on the Richter scale.

Makoto's eyes shot up to his hairline when Lilith's lips touched his. His mental processes, like his body, froze briefly before his brain shouted at him, telling him to break the kiss before he embarrassed himself further. Makoto soon found that his body refused to obey, and that his reason was soon swept away in a storm of desire.

When she finally let him go, the playful grin on her face was back on her face, "That was for the bruises I gave you, Kusakabe-kun. I'll see you soon..."

Makoto watched Lilith leave, dazed. He glanced at his watch.

5 minutes?

He had been locking lips with Lilith for 5 minutes? Good God...that was...

Good. Makoto touched his lips, still feeling the warmth of the German girl's lips and the unspoken promise in that gesture. He started to blush when the classroom erupted in wolf-whistles and cat-calls, making him realise that there had been an audience to the entire scene. His face started to red-out when he saw that there were a lot more people in the class than before.

The jealous glares shot his way by many of the guys - and several girls - made Makoto sweat. And when Tokiya bashed him off his seat with her halisen, the young man knew that he was in for it.

_**X X X X X X**_

Lilith grinned as she heard the cat-calls and wolf-whistles a block away. She had staked a very public claim on Makoto...and it was a challenge to every girl in and out of school to try and contest it. The smug grin on her face disappeared when a familiar golden-haired girl appeared out of the stairwell. Memories as old as the centuries flooded her mind even as her body sent her leaping a good ten feet back.

"Sophia...!"

Blue eyes met crimson, and the owner of the former said, "It's been a long time, Lilith."

Time froze to a crawl as the female devil drew herself erect, facing the angel that had once been friend and sister in a long bygone age. Of the many questions in her mind, only one had an answer. Lilith knew the reason why her nemesis was here, in this school, at that very moment. Then, as now, the Lords of Heaven sought to protect the race of dust and deny their Fallen brethren the chance to reclaim what they had once lost. It did not matter to them that, over the ages, Mankind had become no better than the Fallen.

"Indeed," Lilith replied, "Are you here for the same reason I am, Sophia?"

"I am. I will not let you hurt him, Lilith. What you and your kind are planning for him will see to it that the light of Heaven will never grace his eyes."

"And what makes you think that Heaven will even want him, Sophia? Or any of the Crimson Angel's other children, for that matter? I've seen what the servants of that fucker who art in Heaven do to those who want nothing more than to stand beneath the Light. Forgive me if I say that I won't let you take Makoto from me," Lilith spat, "At least what I promise him WILL be better than any empty promise the Tyrant can make."

"And what is it that you are willing to offer that is greater than our Father's acceptance into His Kingdom?"

Lilith smiled, "The Obsidian Throne itself."

Sophia's eyes widened, and the female devil relished the horror in her counterpart's blue eyes. For several minutes, the female angel was unable to speak. When she finally did, it was in a strangled voice that made Lilith's smile colder. Sophia told Lilith that the glory that the latter offered to the young mortal would be drenched in the blood of Mankind's lost destiny, that he was neither bound to the blood-oaths his father had made nor was he a monster that would close his eyes to the pain of others.

The female devil threw her head back and laughed mockingly, "As if the eyes of the rest of humanity was not blind to the suffering of its own. Take a good look at God's," spitting the word, "most favoured Creation, Sophia. Take a good, long look. This world is dying. You can almost feel each agonizing heartbeat as Gaia tries to fight off the inevitable. She is begging our Father who art in Heaven to give Her strength enough so that His children would not perish. As if the struggle was not already difficult enough, humanity plows on ahead and twists the knife in an already festering wound, allowing the infection to spread deeper."

"You..." Sophia began, only to be cut off by a finger to her lips.

"The sins of humanity and the atrocities it commits is like that infection. We did not cause that wound to fester, nor was it we who laid that wasting touch upon it. That was humanity's doing. Surely you and the rest of those blind idiots in Heaven can remember who it was that made it so..."

"Don't try to whitewash history, Lilith," Sophia said, slapping aside the other girl's hand, "It was your Prince's spite that led God to exile Adam and his descendants from Eden forever."

"They did not deserve to be there in the first place. Paradise was lost **_because_** they existed. Had humanity not been created, then the War would never have happened and all would be as it once was. Don't you know? There are many in Heaven who now share that view. The only reason that the Lords of Heaven continue to defend humanity was because the Tyrant ordered it during the Springtime of Creation," Lilith replied, playing with her long ponytail, "Should He order that they be abandoned, I promise you that your brothers and sisters will trample over one another just to return to Heaven."

"Was that how you got Malchaliel to Fall, Lilith?" Sophia asked, ice edging her words, "By pointing out to her that what she was doing was pointless?"

"Oh, she already knew that. She's happy where she is, Sophia, believe me. She's tasting what Heaven would never allow her to taste," the fallen angel replied, grinning, enjoying the discomfiture on Sophia's part. The grin faded, replaced by a stern seriousness that Sophia had seen all too often when she and Lilith had crossed swords.

"Even if you believe otherwise, Sophia, believe me when I say I speak the truth," the female devil said, looking at her counterpart with a mixture of pity, amusement and contempt, "The Great Imposter will not come to save this world. After seeing what this world has become, you can rest assured that he will only offer those whom he believes can stoke the already-bloated ego of that fool of a God further a place by His side. The rest he will abandon without so much as a second glance. He is done with this world, and like a bored child, he seeks to be rid of it."

"Our Father in Heaven is neither cruel nor petty as you believe him to be, Lilith. He would forgive you if you but..."

"Spare me that righteous drivel, Sophia!" Lilith snarled, "Do you expect me to roll over like a bitch and be mounted just because that sick bastard in Heaven wants me to? You and those like you can be His fuck toys for all I care, but I spit on His offer! He made the same offer to mankind - and has lied to them. Do you expect me to believe that God will honour His word when he keeps the souls of all those who want to enter Heaven outside its Gates? And what about Makoto? He is the son of the Crimson Angel, Sophia. What will be his fate? Final Death? I promise you that the Celestial Inquisition will hang him next to his father if only to have him scream till eternity comes to an end! And I will NOT have it!"

Lilith suddenly fell silent, realizing that her tongue had betrayed her. She saw that Sophia was quiet and pensive, and that she was fighting down a shiver. No doubt, being an angel in Heaven, she had heard all about the Celestial Inquisition's iron-fisted methods. A voice in her mind whispered a warning. There was no question that Sophia knew that Makoto was an Avatar; the question is how many angels in Heaven knew? And of those, how many of those were the Justicars of the Celestial Inquisition?

And why was she undertaking such a hazardous mission alone? The only person who could help her was Harafel...and there was a chance that the Death Angel would not even raise a finger to stop her if Lilith drank the soul from Sophia's broken body. Why?

The first two questions needed answering. The last, she had an inkling as to why, but she was not so sure. The moment the first two questions were answered, the last pieces of the third would fall into place. But, for now, she had to ensure that Makoto would remain unharmed. And doing so meant that she would require Sophia's aid.

Before she could speak, Sophia said, "I know what he is, Lilith...but the decision if he will take it rests in his hands. But, above all, I want him to be alive when he makes that decision. It may be foolish on my part to even agree to what you want...but I need your help."

_'Well, that saved my talking on my part...' _Lilith thought, but she nodded, "I agree to what you ask."

"But I have a question for you before we agree to this pact. Why?"

Lilith's lips curved up, free of malice and mockery for the first time, as she met the female angel's eyes,"Because, like you, I want him to love me. And because he can be greater than the mere mortal that he is. I want to show him what he can and would be if he buts submit to his fate. And you?"

Sophia shook her head, telling Lilith that her reasons were no different, but added, "I want him to know that Heaven accepts him still, as it has his father."

Lilith smiled, "Then let us give him hope...in its most incarnate form."

_**To be continued...**_


	7. The Eye of Iblis, Part 1

_**Chapter 5, Part 1: The Eye of Iblis - Creeping shadows**_

**_Author's note: _**The dates and days of the previous Chapters are incorrect. From this chapter here on out, I will do my best to keep the dates in order. And of course I will correct them.

_**Midnight Angel Karaoke Club, Kyoto City, Japan, Kiyamachi Entertainment district, Sunday, 19th September 1999, 2015 hrs**_

The Midnight Angel Karaoke Club had been built only 4 years ago and was located 3 blocks away from the well-frequented Hoshino Mall. Ever since its opening, it was popular with teenagers and young adults of every stripe and was often crowded. Those who wanted to use its facilities had to make bookings at least a week in advance as well as pay a hefty reservation fee at the same time. As a result, most of those who frequented the club usually came in groups, just as they had.

Tokiya had walked past the club many times, but this was the first time she - and many others with her - had actually stepped into it. As befitting the club's name, standing at the main foyer was the statue of an angel with a harp, her expression serene yet playful. The receptionist, smiled at them in welcome, before turning her attention to Kasumi, "Good evening, Kasumi-san. We were expecting you. The room you reserved is ready. Will there be anything else you would like me to get you?"

Kasumi thought that over briefly, before requesting that food and drinks be brought to the room. The club could add the cost of both to the bill. After all, she grinned, everyone was sharing in the cost even though she was paying the lion's share. Everyone turned to stare at Kasumi as if she had tossed them into the cage with a pack of hungry lions. Only Lilith chuckled, as if amused by the veiled threat.

Tokiya turned to study her friends briefly. There were - including herself, Lilith and Kasumi - 7 of them in all. She recognised all of them. There was Takano Mitsune and Misanagi Kaho, both seniors and in their final years at Kyoto High. Both seniors were part of the swimming team. The remaining two were both from the same year as Kasumi and herself. Tomoyo Hikari was from class 2-3 and Kurai Shiina was from class 2-7.

"I must commend you for your choice, Kasumi-san," Lilith said, studying the club's interiors, "Did it cost you?"

"More than you know," Kasumi replied swiftly, meeting the other's girl's crimson eyes with her amber ones. Tokiya and the other girls exchanged uneasy looks, sensing the lightning and flames in those locked gazes. They knew the reason for that undercurrent of hostility. The gossips that Lilith had kissed Makoto in full view of his classmates had all but rocked the school. When Kasumi got word of it, she had proceeded to beat the offending boy within an inch of his life during kendo practice and intended to do the same to Lilith for putting the moves on her man.

Lilith proved that she was no slouch, and unlike Makoto, she was not about to be gentle. She had sent Kasumi flying across the dojo after a series of brief, but lightning fast feints, that threw her balance off before moving in for the kill. Tokiya had been there; in fact, she was the person Kasumi had crashed into when she opened the shoji doors leading to the dojo.

The green-haired girl, however, would be sporting bruises that would take several days to heal. To add insult to injury, there had been a visiting sensei present. That she, the club's president, had been so soundly thrashed in short order had been humiliating. The sensei - Katsuragi Tsubaki by name - had merely smiled at her and nodded approvingly at the way Kasumi had comported herself.

What Tokiya found strange, however, had been the way the silver-haired swordswoman and Lilith had glared at each other. While many would have voiced that to look at one's senior or teacher in such a fashion was extremely disrespectful, no one in the dojo wanted to break up the staring contest. Nobody was mad enough to want to try. That Makoto had taken the initiative to end the class quickly before heads rolled had been was one thing that Kasumi appreciated even though he had overstepped his boundaries.

Later on, Makoto had voiced the question no one dared voice. Did Katsuragi-sensei and Lilith know each other? And if so, what had happened that had caused such bad blood between them? He had seen those kind of looks before, he told her. It had been a long time ago, back when his parents had been alive, back when the Mikage family had tried to break them up, but he would never forget that gaze that held the promise of retribution should that line be crossed.

Tokiya told him that the only way to know was to ask the silver-haired teacher or Lilith, and both did looked like they were not about to spill the beans anytime soon.

But, there was one question that was running circles around Tokiya's head: how did Katsuragi-sensei actually know Makoto? Even the latter admitted that this was the first time he had ever met the teacher. Tokiya could only come to the conclusion that the silver-haired swordswoman knew him through Aoshi-sensei.

Tokiya's train of thought was soon broken when her turn came to sing. She was briefly startled. How long had she been lost in her thoughts? Mitsune grinned at her, saying that she had zoned out completely while the rest of the girls had finished their turns at the karaoke machine. Tokiya blushed, threw back her hands in a stretch and said, "All right, get ready! I'll knock your socks off."

Tokiya went to the song selection and selected _Shizuka Yorouni,_ a melodious, sweet song that suited her mood. Even as she did so, memories of the past returned.

She remembered Makoto and herself playing.

She remembered them quarrelling over every little thing.

She remembered them studying together.

She remembered them going to the same schools.

She remembered him crying...smiling...laughing...

Everywhere she turned in the vista of her memories, she saw him there.

Even as the song petered off and she opened her eyes, she could see, almost sense, the awe on the faces of her friends. Even Lilith looked impressed.

"I concede, Marimo-san," the German girl nodded, clapping, "You win."

The girls clapped and cheered Tokiya's shock victory as Lilith continued, "It will seem that I will be the one paying for the pizza. I'll use the club's phone to make the order. You girls try to come up with the next set of challenges."

"Done," Kasumi answered quickly, "Just go get us our dinners."

As the amethyst-haired girl stepped out, the other girls quickly crowded around and asked her. Kasumi started, "I've heard you sing before, Toki-chan, and that was one of the best performances I've ever seen or heard. I knew you were good, but this takes the biscuit."

Kaho's eyes became mischievous, "You were thinking of someone, weren't you?"

"Wha-! Hell, no!" Tokiya reddened.

"Liar, liar, hair on fire..." Shiina and Hikari sang.

"I'm not lying!" the brown-haired girl fired back hotly, "What manner of pervert do you take me for?"

"The type," Mitsune said, her playful look promising to pour oil onto the fire, "that is in love and wants to go the full ten yards. And from what I know, it's Kasumi's _beau_, am I right? Or is it Lilith's? Or Sophia's?"

Tokiya redded out, and a brief glance to a fuming Kasumi told her that both she and Mitsune were doomed. They would pay the piper before the night was through.

**X X X X X X**

Lilith stepped outside, her enhanced hearing picking up the conversation as clearly as if she were still inside the room. She had chosen to wear a bustier, a trenchcoat, a mini-skirt and high-heeled boots. She had gotten a lot of appreciative looks from the men they passed by. Lilith stepped out of the club before pulling out her cellphone and calling one of her contacts on the speed-dial.

A voice responded sleepily,"Yes?"

"It's me. I need you to procure some information. Can you do it?"

"I can. But what kind of information, Shion?" asked the other speaker, refering to Lilith by the alias she had given him. He was more alert now that he recognised her voice.

"I need you to access police records. Is this possible?"

A brief silence, "It will be tricky. But, considering my line of work, it will be possible. But it will take time so as not to arouse suspicion. Can you wait?"

"As long as you give me what I want to know by the end of the week."

"It will be done. What exactly do you want?"

"There have been some odd occurances happening as of late. I want you to get me everything that is seemingly out of the ordinary. Kidnappings, thefts, murders - the whole works."

"Shion, there's a LOT of shit happening. Not just in Japan, but everywhere. You should read the papers or watch the news once in a while."

"That will get me nowhere. The media shows us what _they_ want to show us, not what we want to know. I need indepth information. That's where you come in. You have your instructions. Carry them out."

"Understood."

Lilith was about to hang up when curiousity struck her, "Oh, and where are you at the moment?"

A woman's voice in the background, sultry and warm, gave Lilith the answer. She grinned, "I see. Have fun, Yuki-san." _'I am not surprised...'_

Her senses suddenly tingled, and Lilith spun, catching the hand of the person who had snuck up on her and triggered 3 pain-centres in the joker's hand. Her grin became an irritated snarl when she saw who it was behind her. Oh, by the Lords of Hell, not this walking piece of shit again!

Standing before her, tending to a sore wrist, was Sahaka Mikage and his gang, who were accompanied by the girls they had picked up on their outing. The eldest, delinquent scion of the Mikage family was dressed in formal clothes, but in a casual fashion that made him look dashing to those of the opposite sex.

"You're as feisty as always, Lilith-san," Sahaka said, "And I only wanted to attract your attention."

"You can do that by calling my name and not by sneaking up on me," Lilith replied, "But as you already have it, what do you want?"

Sahaka got to the point. He asked her if she was willing to join him and his gang for a party he was hosting at a nearby nightclub that he had rented out for the occasion. Lilith pointedly refused the offer. She turned her crimson eyes on the giggling pack of girls that accompanied Sahaka's gang.

There was no doubt as to what Sahaka had in mind. Oh, the female devil had had lovers before...but the people she took were people that had shone with an incandescance that reminded her of Heaven's sacred light before she consigned them to a silent eternity. To her, they were _real_, something she could touch and hold, of the _permenance_ that the Tyrant had given to his mortal children, and had nothing of the lost glory that Sahaka possessed in abundance.

"And I suppose that there is nothing I can do to convince you otherwise, Lilith-san?" Sahaka asked, feigning disappointment.

Lilith fought down a sneer, "Thank you, but..."

"She's with me, Sahaka," a familiar voice finished for her, placing a firm hand on the female devil's shoulder,"I would thank you not to steal away my friends for your...fun as I do not relish having to explain to their families as to why they are with you when they were with me."

"She's old enough to choose, Ka-kun," Sahaka said, grinning, running a roguish eye on Kasumi's clubbing attire, "Perhaps you and your friends can join us. I promise...no, guarantee, that everyone will have a good time."

"Thanks, Sahaka...but no thanks," Kasumi said, proceeding to drag Lilith back into the karaoke club. The female devil did not resist. As the automated doors parted before them, Sahaka called out, "Lilith-san, if you want to join me...I'll be at the Silver Crane nightclub. It's several blocks down. I'll inform the bouncer outside to let you in."

The fallen angel met Sahaka's gaze briefly before turning it onto one of his friends. Her crimson lips curved into a smile.

"Is that smile a yes?"

Kasumi's hands tightened on her shoulder, but Lilith shook it off.

"I'll think about it," Lilith said, before turning and striding into the karaoke club. Kasumi stared at Lilith as she disappeared up the stairs, before she cast her smirking cousin an angry glare. Even though the German girl was a rival in every way, Kasumi did not want to see her end up the same way as most girls had when Sahaka was through with them. She remembered the broken look in Ruri's eyes when she had visited her friend all those months ago.

Beautiful, proud, stubborn Ruri...she had been Kasumi's idol even though they were in the same year. She had her eyes set on a future she confided only to Kasumi - a family with Makoto, a stable income capable of putting their children (she planned on having several) through school. She remembered her voice whispering hoarsely that all her dreams, all her hopes, were all gone. All because of one mistake. She had drunk too much and, before she realized it, found herself in a hotel room, with a naked Sahaka over her. He had not been alone. When Sahaka was done, his friends took turns having their fun with her.

Not content to have violated her once, Sahaka had done again so after his gang had finished. All this she told Kasumi and not Makoto, but not before swearing her friend to silence. Later on, she found out that the family had bribed the doctor to alter the medical reports so as to ensure that Ruri's accusations that Sahaka had spike her drink would be baseless, and that she had sex with him consensually.

The rest was history.

"Are you going to test matters with Makoto again, Sahaka?" Kasumi asked, her voice glacial, "You heard the rumours going around school. Lilith-san is Makoto's girl."

"So that means I can go after Sophia," Sahaka grinned even as he seethed inside.

"Don't even think of it, Sahaka."

"Are you telling me," the black-haired boy replied calmly, "that even Sophia-san is interested in that loser?"

"Isn't it obvious? Unless you are blind, you would have noticed the way she looks at him. But, considering that you are a guy, it would fly over your head with miles to spare. And, Kusakabe-kun is not a loser, Sahaka," Kasumi said, icily, "No man worth his dignity would not allowed what had happened to the one he loved go unpunished. You were lucky that I was there to stop him before he got to you that time."

As the green-haired girl stepped back into the karaoke club, she warned her cousin that if he did to either Sophia or Lilith what he did to Ruri Hayase, she would not lift a finger to help him again when Makoto comes after him. She did not add that she would give Makotgo the Mikage family's sacred heirloom katana, glittering and sharp from the feudal ages, with the fondest wish that he use it to send Sahaka and his gang to the grave.

**X X X X X X**

_**MacDonalds, Kyoto City, Japan, Sunday, 19th September 1999, 2130 hrs **_

"We finally have the time to talk. It's been almost two weeks since you last came to our school. I'm sorry if my invitation came as a surprise, Sophia-san," Shizuka said as she sipped her Coke, "It was rather hard to find you even during school hours. And it doesn't help that you disappear so quickly after. And what I wanted to speak to you about had best be done without Makoto or anyone else in hearing."

Sophia smiled. The young nun was sharper than she gave herself credit for. The female angel could tell that her human counterpart was gifted in the same fashion as the Vatican's leader of the Oracles of Delphi. But unlike the leader of the Delphian Oracles, Shizuka's gift was erratic. However, the young nun had seen enough to know what was about to happen, and the events that would lead up to that event.

The black circles under Shizuka's eyes proved that the visions she had seen were less than pleasant.

"Is it about what you have seen in your dreams, Shizuka-san?" Sophia asked.

The young nun nodded. Sophia reached out and placed a hand on hers, allowing her power to flow and ease the exhaustion that Shizuka felt, before speaking two words.

"Tell me."

The black-haired girl hesitated briefly, before letting it all out in a torrent. She spoke of 10 titanic figures, enormous as gods, against the starry backdrop of the universe, clutching weapons raised to a crimson star that bathed all of Creation in its terrible light. And descending from the heart of that star was a glorious, winged figure clutching a blazing spear. But, instead of feeling the ecstasy that comes with seeing one of God's servants, Shizuka had felt her blood freeze. Even though it was but a vision, the fear she felt even so had robbed her even of the capacity to scream.

Sophia did not blame her. Upon Shizuka describing the winged figure holding a flaming spear, the female angel felt the blood drain from her as memories of that same figure standing over the broken, bleeding body of the Maiden of Battles, Archangel Cagariel amidst the ruins of her citadel and the corpses of her compatriots. Only the timely intercession of a celestial host led by the Principatus of Heaven, Metatron, and his brother, Sandalphon, had sent the Fallen Host and their Prince packing.

But, as of late, Shizuka added, she had been having other visions. She saw 12 figures crucified around the image of an inverted cross with a winged serpent coiled about it. Upon its forehead, however, was a star cross, a sigil not normally associated with the dark powers. The serpent had turned its gaze, however, to the one crucified at the 12 o' clock position, indicating without words that Shizuka should do the same. But before she could do so, she would always wake up.

The young nun had also added that she had seen the Celestial Serpent and the Lion of Heaven fighting each other. The battlefield in which they clashed was thick with the corpses of angels. Sophia felt unease blossom in her heart. A second War in Heaven? The sigil of the Celestial Serpent belonged to the 4 Archangels and their warmasters, with the Lion of Heaven was the symbol of the Celestial Inquisition and the Council of the 12 Princes.

What was going on? Before her Descent at the command of her Superior, Sophia had heard rumours of the division that had split the Holy Host. What exactly was the cause of the rift, she wasn't sure, but she had a feeling that it had something to do with God's newest command to the Host. The young angel felt an urge to speak to her Superior as soon as possible.

"Sophia-san..." Shizuka spoke softly, "There is one thing I must ask you."

"Yes?"

"In one of my visions, I saw a beautiful princess imprisoned within a palace, bound by chains above a throne of ebony and alabaster."

"A white princess?"

"_Hai._"

Sophia knew immediately who the nun was describing. She had seen her before. The Princess of the Second House. The First Murderer's attempt to create a counterbalance to his first brood that he had created after his exile.

"She is not human, is she? Even if I saw her in a dream, I felt the very air about me shimmer with the power radiating from her soul. It was as if those chains that bound her was meant to bound a terrible monster."

"They are," Sophia replied, "Those chains binds one who is as mighty as the the legendary Founders of the vampire Clans. She has many names, but amongst the vampire race, she is known as the White Princess. She is the one being whose very name causes even the godlike progenitors of the vampire clans to shudder in terror. Each time she roused from her slumber, she would leave a trail littered with the corpses of dead vampires as she scoured the world for the hiding Ancients of the First House."

Shizuka swallowed, unable to believe what she had just heard. How could someone so beautiful...so pure...be so evil? Yes, there was a taint about her, but it was the same taint that each and every vampire lived with. It was the one thing that not even the mightiest elder could defeat without transcending the Curse imposed upon the vampiric race by God. And yet, whether by arrogance or determination, the White Princess struggled to chain the Beast within her.

"But, by no means, despite her actions, is she evil. There may be those in Heaven who think otherwise, but I'm not one of them," Sophia finished, "What else have you seen?"

Shizuka paused briefly as she tried to pull the visions from the dusty recesses of her mind. But only one could she remember. And of all the visions, it was this one that stood out in her mind. She told Sophia, whose eyes widened as Shizuka continued. When the young nun was through, the female angel was pale and shaking.

4 days.

Something that will shake the foundations of Creation will happen in 4 days. Was that the reason why the crimson star, visible only to those possessing supernatural vision, was shining brighter than ever?

But, what is it that will happen?

Sophia did not know. But, her resolve to speak with her Superior hardened. And she had to do it soon.

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City, Japan, Eternia Nightclub, Sunday, 19th September 1999, 2145 hrs**_

Ruida Sakurazuka of Kyoto High sat quietly at the bar counter, nursing to what was possibly the seventh cup of whisky. She studied the amber liquid as if trying to discern the future in its glassy depths. She whispered her celestial name, something she had not done for the past 4 centuries. The last time someone had spoken that name had been a young, heroic man who paid a high price for victory.

Even as he fell into the arms of the Bloody Angel, resurrected even as Constatinople fell during the Fourth Crusade of 1204, he had smiled ever so gently. Pure yet tainted, idealistic yet pragmatic, a quiet symphony of light and shadow, of strength and weakness, that was how Ruida remembered him. What had her name been back then? Ah yes...Meliadoul. Meliadoul Tingel, adopted daughter of the General Vormav Tingel.

She had been part of a group given the task of foiling the resurrection of a fallen angel reputed to be one of the Morningstar's finest generals in his war against Heaven. If the Maiden of Battles, Archangel Cagariel, had a rival to the title, it came in the form of the Bloody Angel Altimael. It had not been God or any of His servants that had defeated her during the closing days of the War of Wrath. It had been a mortal, one of Heaven's finest champions on Earth. He had left the Bloody Angel a psychological scar that had never healed.

But, in the end, it had not been enough. Ramza Beowulf was human. He was not the same hero who had brought down such a mighty being. He had neither the blessings of God, nor the lost weapons of a bygone age to help him. All he had was faith in a God that watched impassively as he fought to banish an incarnate spirit mightier than the vampire Ancients.

In that strange, almost poignant, moment, even as the torn, shattered body of Ramza fell into the fallen angel's arms, even as the spirit scream of the young girl Altima had made her Avatar resounded in their minds and souls, Ruida saw the bitter disappointment on the Bloody Angel's face.

That same gaze, the Bloody Angel soon directed towards Ruida. The Fallen princess knew who she was, and in that gaze was the unspoken question of why she had chosen to fight against her when they were both exiled by God and why had she, never once, used her powers. Ruida had merely replied, via telepathy, that even if she had shown her true self, she would have been seen as a fallen angel by the agents of the Church - not to mention that her companions would kill her the moment they found out the truth.

_'You disappoint me, Harafel. You are nothing but a shadow of your former glory. To think that once, even I feared the kiss of your scythe. You've debased yourself to the level of these lambs, fit only for slaughter. But, this one is mine. You stil have a chance, Harafel. Revert to your true form, and you can still save this soul. Otherwise...I'll make him mine.'_

Ruida swallowed the whisky in one gulp, not even coughing and drawing looks of approval from several men and no few women nearby. The bartender poured her another shot as she attempted to drown out the memory of the Bloody Angel's mocking laughter. She had failed Ramza just as she had failed Darien.

She would be damned if she failed Makoto. No matter what happens, she would not just stand there and let something happen to him.

A hand suddenly fell on her shoulder, and Ruida fired a cold glare at the unwanted visitor, who promptly recoiled at the hostility in the fallen angel's amber gaze.

"Whoa, Ruida-chan. It's me."

The haze of anger and shame faded, and Ruida saw a familiar face a foot away. It was Megumi Yuki, the school nurse. She was dressed in a low-cut, high-slit one piece dress. Her purple hair cascaded past her shoulders, making her look like a model.

"Sorry," Ruida said.

"It's okay. You look pretty unhappy, Rui-chan. What's wrong?"

"Just some bad memories."

"Must be bad if they caused you to react the way you did," Yuki said, "Mind if I sit?"

Ruida inclined her head to the empty barstool, "Be my guest. Who are you waiting for, Yuki?"

She smiled, "He should be here soon."

Ruida found herself chuckling, "If it is who I think it is, I'd advise you take him somewhere where no one from our school will recognise the both of you. Otherwise you'd really get it from the Principal."

"I'm not a member of the teaching staff, Ruida. Champagne, please," the last directed to the bartender.

"True. But keep it quiet all the same. You know that are people in our workplace who...dislike you, to say the least. Discretion is the better part of valour."

Yuki raised the newly-arrived glass of champagne in acknowledgement to Ruida's advice, "Indeed. If _his_ family gets to hear of our little...outings, they will not be pleased. But, I don't care about what they think. They never extended to me that courtesy."

"You already know what you want, Yuki-chan. Now go grab it with both hands before anyone else."

"You bet your ass I will," Yuki grinned, raising her champagne glass in a toast.

Ruida smiled, masking the sorrow she felt within, _'And the moment you do...never let him go. Don't end up living a life regretting lost chances like me...'_

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City Park, Japan, Sunday, 19th September 1999, 2315 hrs**_

Tomoe Hisako had been out clubbing with her friends when she had caught sight of one of the hottest guys she had ever seen. There was no question that he was a foreigner, with his white-blonde hair and his crimson eyes that all but glowed in the darkness of the nightclub. He had introduced himself to them, much to the jealousy of many women in the club, as Areil Aridel, a private investigator.

Unlike most of the other losers that had approached them for the past few hours, Tomoe and her friends found it near impossible to shoot him down. His conversational skills had left all of them dazzled by its brilliance. When he asked Tomoe to accompany him for fresh air, she found herself unable to refuse. She knew what he was asking for, and didn't mind giving it to him. No doubt the rest of the girls would be seething in jealousy the next morning. The fact that they were going to do it in such a public place had been kinky as well.

Areil's touch had been like fire, and it had trailed from up her exposed thigh and under her mini-skirt even as his other hand slipped under her halter top and fondled her breasts. Tomoe could not help but moan. Kami-sama, but this guy was good! Not even the Sahaka had been this good - nor this gentle. Each touch seemed to worship her and to promise her pleasure.

The man's playful grin and his well-timed questions as to whether she was enjoying his ministrations made Tomoe blush.

When Areil slipped his fingers beneath her panties, the young girl could not help but give vent to a strangled gasp as he slipped two fingers into the already drenched opening between her legs.

"I see that it has been an enjoyable experience, Tomoe-san. Do you wish it to continue?" Areil asked, his eyes gleaming, "Or do you want me to stop?"

Tomoe could only shake her head.

"Do you want to touch heaven?"

Tomoe could only whisper a hoarse yes.

"Then, I shall bring you there," Areil promised, as his other hand pushed the jacket off the girl, and pushing her halter top up so that her breasts were revealed. The fallen angel smiled, studying the nubile, young mortal girl beneath him, whose eyes shone with anticipation for what was to come.

_'I have a use for you, young Tomoe...or more appropriately, my sister has a use for you. But, to do so, I must mark you...' _

Areil increased his ministrations on particular spot between the girl's legs that he knew would send her spiralling into bliss...and with his Disciplines, make her beg for more. The strangled gasps and the way the girl was writhing told Areil that she was close to climaxing. He quickly pulled down her panties and hitched up her skirt with his right hand, instants before a spray of bodily fluids drenched his left and a strangled cry of ecstasy shattered the silent night air.

Tomoe drew in gulps of air as a sweet, languorous feeling spread throughout her body. She felt satiated, but wanted more.

"Is that...it?" she asked, breathlessly.

The handsome foreigner shook his head, and grinned, revealing teeth that looked disturbingly like fangs, "Oh no, Tomoe-chan, we're only just getting started..."

Areil started to remove his clothes, his crimson eyes luminous in the darkness, blazing with desire.

"And we have all night to enjoy ourselves..."

**X X X X X X**

_**Silver Crane Nightclub, Mens' room, Kyoto, Kiyamachi Entertainment district, Sunday, 19th September, 2345 hrs**_

Goro Hisayashi looked at himself in the mirror, trying to make himself look presentable. Man, the party had been hot, and so were the girls Sahaka had invited over. Some of his friends had excused themselves from the party and headed for private locations in the nightclub or headed for the nearest love hotel in order to have some 'private' fun. He slicked his hair back, remembering the girl that Sahaka had talked to hours before.

So that was the girl his friend had been talking about, eh? Man, Sahaka had good taste. She was several degrees of hot but her very attire and attitude was even more so. Lilith - that was the name of the girl if he remembered correctly - radiated an arrogant strength and proud confidence that excited him. She was the type of girl he had seen only in the Steel Roses, the all-girl biker gang that tore up the highways from Sendai down to Tokyo.

But, that girl...something about Lilith made Goro nervous. Sahaka sure as hell did not see it. If there was one thing about Sahaka that Goro disliked, it was the fact that there were times he did his thinking with his dick. He did not see that this girl was deadly. Or was that the reason his friend was so attracted to her?

If so, Sahaka was insane. Not that that assessment had ever stopped the delinquent scion of the Mikage family from playing with fire, but Goro had a feeling that if his friend fooled around with this particular blaze, it would jump up and eat him alive. After all, Sahaka had been the only in the gang that had been spared Kusakabe Makoto's cold-blooded fury when the latter had snapped over a year ago. Had his cousin, Kasumi (the green-haired girl that had told Sahaka off earlier; Goro still remembered her), not intervened, there was no question as to the fact that Sahaka would be six feet under.

Goro closed his eyes, remembering the scene. He had been screaming in agony from 3 broken ribs, a dislocated kneecap, and a broken arm amidst the broken bodies of his friends. Towering above them, like a devil, teeth clenched, eyes blazing, had been a young man transformed into a demon.

He remembered the teachers, even Hiromaru-sensei, backing off, even as they tried to calm him down.

He remembered the faint, faint scent of blood, of fire, of whispers from beyond that seemed so real.

He remembered his schoolmates staring at the scene in horror, some of them screaming.

He remembered as a girl armed with a _bokken_ engage Makoto in combat, her green hair and golden eyes blazing with fierce concentration and the knowledge that this was a duel to the death. The angry roar that had exploded from Makoto's lips was more inhuman than otherwise.

"It gives weight to the words that justice has a long reach, does it not, Hisayashi Goro?" a voice spoke from behind, "And that when doing evil, always anticipate retribution."

Goro whipped around to see the last person he had expected to see. Not only was the person not in a place she was supposed to be, but he had not even hear her come in. How the hell did-? Standing there, arms crossed, eyes closed, smiling like a hungry predator, was the same girl he had seen hours before, her long, silvery-amethyst hair whipping about in an invisible wind.

"Lilith-san!" he whispered hoarsely.

The German girl's eyes opened, and Goro took several steps back, his voice choking out a prayer from his childhood days when he saw them. They were red without a hint of white, blazing with cruelty and malice.

"Kami-sama..."

"Will not hear you," Lilith smiled as she strode forward, a sword materialising in her hands, "Will not help you and will not lift a finger to save you. That's how far He has fallen."

"Who...what are you?" the young man asked even as an answer whispered in his mind.

"I think you already know, Goro-san," the fallen angel replied as she swept forward.

Goro's scream was brief. Lilith's sword sliced through his throat and a reverse cut caused his body to explode in a bloody eruption that drenched the girl completely. The girl licked the blood from her hands, laughing softly, before whispering an enchantment that caused the blood that drenched her body and clothes to evaporate in a faint, crimson mist. She traced a symbol in the air as a mandala of flame encircled the torn corpse of Hisayashi Goro before she reached out and pulled a ghostly form from the body of the butchered young man.

"Justice ever has a long reach, Hiasayashi Goro, and its reach can bring even the Throne of Heaven down..." Lilith said softly, her voice heavy with malice, as the soul of Hisayashi Goro screamed soundlessly before being sucked into Hell.

Then, she strode through the latrine's walls, leaving no trace of her ever being present. She would be able to return to the Midnight Angel Karaoke club within seconds without anyone being the wiser.

Minutes later, when one of Goro's friends and the girls invited to the party had entered the bathroom, they were greeted by a sight that had them screaming and people rushing in to see what was wrong. They, in turn, recoiled at the sight of mutilated and almost unrecognisable corpse of Hisayashi Goro.

It would take the police 15 minutes to arrive onto the scene.

And when Katsuragi Misato of the Special Ops team saw the mess, she could only whisper a prayer for the murdered young man. And when she saw the media arrive, that prayer became a curse. It would be a long night. She called her ward to inform him she would be back late tonight.

A dull rumble of thunder overhead told the policewoman that it would be a long, _cold_ night...

**X X X X X X**

_**Tsuki Restaurant, Kyoto City outskirts, 20th September 1999, Monday, 0230 hrs**_

_The touch was feathery soft, and the figure ran her slender hands over his body. He could not see the features of the figure that straddled him, and he felt the warmth of something enfold his penis. The light that blazed behind the girl blinded him, gleaming off hair like molten gold. He could see - no, sense - the gentle, playful smile that curved her ruby lips. She raised her head briefly, cocking her head as if hearing something, before turning her attention back to the young man beneath her. She stroked his cheek, before allowing her wings to slam out..._

...and Makoto shot up with a strangled gasp. He drew in gulps of air as he fought down the arousal his dream had brought about. The warm heat spread from his loins, gripping heart and soul with warm, sensous tendrils, whispering words that was primordial in its promise. The young man chuckled as he ran a hand through his hair. If this went on, he may well follow through with his decision to get rid of his secret stash of porn. Combined with the erotic dreams he had been having lately, it was only a matter of time before he cracked.

In the several minutes it took his heartbeat to stop trying to outrun an F16 and reason to reclaim the throne it had been cast from, he switched on the bedside lamp before standing up. A brief glance to the wall-mounted clock told him the time. It was 2:30 in the morning. The dull rumble of thunder told Makoto that the storm had yet to abate.

He headed for the kitchen, intent on getting a hot drink to soothe his nerves, and halted when he walked past his aunt's room. A brief, cursory inspection told him that his aunt had yet to return from her drinking sessions. Though she was capable of taking care of herself, Makoto could not help but worry about her. He sighed. There was no doubt that he was going to be late for school when morning came.

Makoto strode down to the restaurant area, which dominated 2 of the 3-storied building his aunt owned, his footsteps echoing in the silent darkness. His memories whispered softly from the shadows. The voices of his parents, long gone, as they studied, were mingled intersped with his aunt's own as she went through her account books and experimented with new recipes to add to _Tsuki_'s menu.

The weary voice of the old shopkeeper that sold kites as he talked to Makoto about days long past, and told him stories in exchange that he told him the ones his father had made...

The jokes made by his aunt's colleagues and employees...

The rambunctious voices of his cousins and friends...

The harsh voice of the Mikage family patriarch and the harsh blows...

Ruri...

Makoto froze briefly as his first love's voice returned to him. Even in the darkness, he could see her dark eyes, gleaming like moonstruck obsidian, and the long mane of blue hair tied in a ponytail and that proud defiant smile. That proud posture of a girl who knew what she wanted.

_'If you make your dream real, Makoto-kun, I want to share it with you...'_

He smiled sadly, pushing the memory back to the deepest recesses of his mind. Milk, once spilt, cannot be returned to the cup. Some dreams, when ended, can never be resurrected.

Just as he reached the first level, the phone on the counter started to ring. Makoto stopped to answer it,

"Hello, _Tsuki_ Restaurant..." he began.

"Ara...is that you, Kusakabe-kun?" came a familiar voice.

"Saori-sensei...?"

"Hai-hai, it's me," his teacher replied in a sing-song tone.

"Why are you calling this time of night, sensei? I hope this is not one of your pranks," Makoto said, irritation evident in his tone. The time combined with his memories had all but sent his mood to the mire.

"It's not like I had a choice, Makoto-chan," his teacher replied, "I'm coming to _Tsuki_ with your aunt."

"Eh...? Whatever for...?"

"Your aunt had a little _too much _to drink," his teacher replied, emphasising the two words, "And the storm is getting worse. I'll have to stay at your place for the night."

The crack of lightning and the intensity of the rain outside added weight to her words. No doubt that those who were caught in the storm would have to wait till it abated - and that may well be hours from now.

"How long will it take for you to get here?"

"Ten minutes. I'll use my car's horn to inform you when we're there. And get some dry clothes ready for me," his teacher said before hanging up. Makoto shivered, and not because of the cold. Despite the seriousness of her tone, he could detect a hint of ever-present mischief in the fox-woman of a teacher who delighted in making his life a living hell.

Makoto got everything ready, and waited for their arrival. When they came, Makoto emerged prepared for anything save what he got. He was immediately buffeted by strong winds and freezing rain. Kami-sama, what a storm! He had to force open the umbrella and fight to keep it from flying away as he made his way to the main portico's doors.

Outside, standing in the rain, was his teacher and his aunt. The latter was barely able to stand, and the former was having trouble supporting her. Their clothes were drenched, and clung to every curve. Makoto's eyes could not help but be drawn to the amount of skin on display. He felt his face grow warm, and Saori-sensei, despite the situation, could not resist teasing her awestruck student.

In"I know I look nice in wet clothes, Makoto-chan...but can we get inside before you start admiring me or your aunt?"

That one question broke the young man out of his trance, and he quickly, if not sheepishly, helped them into the restaurant before rushing back out to close the portico's doors. When he got back, he saw that his brown-haired teacher was drying herself and had draped a dry towel over his aunt.

Saori gave Makoto a lopsided smile, "Thanks for the dry towels, Makoto-kun. I hope I'm not imposing on you. You don't mind if I help myself to some of the sake, do you?"

Makoto told her to help herself even as he dried his aunt, who was shivering from the cold. A cup of sake was soon lowered on the table.

"Here," Saori said, "This will help warm her up. I know she's had too much to drink...but a minute out there is more than enough to warrant it. But, one thing's for sure...she'll have a heck of a hangover when the sun comes up."

"And I'll be late for school. Damn it...but does she have to do this to me? I really don't want to come face-to-face with Yuko-sensei first thing in the morning."

"You don't worry about that. I'll deal with Yuko-chan."

"You will?" Makoto asked, hopefully.

"Of course," Saori replied cheerily, before her face took on a michievous cast, "I'll help you with your aunt as well. In exchange for one thing..."

Makoto gulped, _'I knew it...'_

_**X X X X X X**_

_**New York, Manhattan, USA, 19th September 1999, Sunday, 2045 hrs**_

_'The Avatar is in New York. Find her before our brothers and sisters in the Inquisition make a mistake that cannot be undone. You will be aided by the Seraphs, a coterie loyal to the vampiress Bennu of Clan Toreador. Move swiftly, for you do not have much time. The Iron Maiden already knows what I know.'_

That had been what his superior, Cardinal Wesley, had told him 12 hours ago. And frankly, even with the numbers he had on his side, Arles was not eager to face the monolithic might that the Inquisition could bring to bear on him. Yes, they had drawn enough weapons from the Vatican's Sacred Armoury to lay siege to Hell, but the odds were still against them. The Cardinal had allies aiding them, but was it enough?

Arles knew that the vast network that the Church and her allies had in place was enough to make life difficult for them. He studied his allies. If there was one thing he could say about them, it was that they were battle-hardened. They had faced overwhelming odds and sent the opposition out the window. The Seraphs combined mortal and vampiric might with the discipline and flexibility of a well-armed infiltration force. The group's network of allies and contacts were just as impressive. Was it any wonder that the Vatican's kill-teams had failed to destroy the Seraphs? By the time the fist of God came crashing down, the Seraphs had already flown the coop.

The golden-haired captain studied his white-maned Gangrel companion that sat in the front seat, arms crossed, studying the city. New York was still a Camarilla city, she had told him, mentioning the mighty vampiric sect that was on the verge of total collapse, but strange things have been occuring for the past few months. She wasn't sure what it was, but the Tremeres - the Warlocks, as they were commonly called by the Kindred - had said that _something_ had awoken from its long slumber.

Something evil.

Something ancient.

And that was not all. Every vampire had heard that ancient, undying voice - but it was the Clan of the Shapers that felt it the strongest. The vampires of the Seraph coterie - like their sectmates in New York's Camarilla enclave and the Sybarites of the Belial's Brood - were uneasy. Whatever it was that was sleeping in the city - or beneath it - was _powerful, _and they knew it. This was no elder. This was something, she said, far, _far_ older.

Which was why, she said, that they should get the Avatar and get the hell out. The problem was, where was she? The Cardinal had confirmed that the Avatar was a girl, but there are over a million women in New York. He couldn't possibly go up to each and every one of them and ask, _'I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but are you the Avatar?'_

And the worse part was, the Inquisition was way ahead of them.

The worst part?

The entire _fucking_ Church knew that the Silent Throne Exorcist team had chosen to jump ship with their leader for _doing the right thing_. And it was the right thing. One doesn't go offing some innocent just because it was the easiest way to flick the Adversary the finger. The right way was always, **_always_** the hard way!

Which was why, for the umpteenth time, Arles thanked God that Wesley had sent him competent help. At least booting Satan from Earth back to his shit-hole would be somewhat easier.

Arles was broken from his musings as Bennu gave instructions for the search teams to split up. The Cardinal had indicated that the Avatar was somewhere in the metropolis, but could not pinpoint the exact location. As a result, the group had split up to cover more ground. A soft, cold whisper caused Arles to jerk up and look around, his hand going for the heavy pistol beneath his jacket. He saw that he was not alone. Everyone - from Silent Throne Exorcist to Seraph - had stopped their vehicles and were looking around for an unseen threat, for the source of that unseen voice, weapons on the verge of being drawn.

Whatever it was that was here, Arles knew that - powerful though he and his companions were, it would not be enough to defeat whatever it was that was slumbering within this city. If the Church were not too busy hunting something so trivial (at least to Arles), they would be finding out who or what it was that had made the city its haven.

Then, the ground beneath them started to shake, and the eerie whisper that had been in the nightmares of every supernatural and servant of God became a thunderous roar. The Seraph coterie and the Silent Throne Exorcists exchanged horrified looks instants before all hell broke loose.

And in the skies above, the dim glow of the crimson star, having appeared years ago, started to burn brighter than ever before.

_**To be continued...**_


	8. The Eye of Iblis, Part 2

_**Chapter 5: The Eye of Iblis**_

_**Part 2: Countdown**_

**_Disclaimer: _**I know that so far, I have been borrowing things from many genres. From D&D, to D20, to White Wolf, to everything, including the original H-game by Active Software. I'll make sure I give them their dues when everything is done, so hold those damn cannons already!

_**Blue Rose Mansion, Vatican City, Rome, Monday, 20th September 1999, 0235 hrs**_

The Blue Rose mansion overlooking the Vatican city had been the property of the von Kierstland family for over 300 years. Though not as majestic as the family's main estates in Germany, it was as large as four football fields put together and was capable of housing the entire von Kierstland family should they choose to spend the summer there. Not that, Bauer thought as she gazed upon the lights of the city from the balcony, they have done so in a long time.

The Inquisitor-General turned her gaze from the city to the star-filled skies above, drawing in a deep breath as she did so. For though the night air was cold, it was unable to still the ever-tightening knot that had wound itself around her heart. It had been there ever since Prophetess Constance had appeared before her in spirit form several hours ago. The words that had left her lips had been less than comforting, but it had started to give meaning to the answers to the many questions that had been plaguing the Inner Circle of the Inquisition for many years. But, regardless, one thing was for certain: the enemies of God were rousing from their ages-old slumber to wreck vengeance upon Him and His servants.

Prophetess Constance had told her that the ancient progenitors of the vampire race were rising. All of them - both the First and Second Houses - were rousing from their hidden havens throughout the world to play out the final moves of their millenias-old Jyhad. And not only that, the Prophetess had also added that the White Princess, the mightiest of the Second House of Caine, had fully risen from torpor. Her rousing was the final trigger in which the other Ancients would wake.

_**'A monster rising beneath a great city in the land of the 50 stars; it is this Beast that had given birth to the contagion that spreads through blood and touch. It shall not rise alone; the grand-childer of the First Murderer shall rise with the intention of claiming a world that is not theirs. The final trigger will be that the White Princess shall rise, and regain all of her lost power. For when that moment comes, a world will shudder as the breath of the Endbringer chills the Earth.'**_

The United States' government and the WHO had called the plague that had all but baffled medical experts 'cthulhosis', a nod to the American horror writer, H.P. Lovecraft. The virus was not lethal, but it was highly contagious. That would change, Constance told her. The vampire Ancient that spawned this plague had created it with the intention of bringing the human race to its knees. The Inquisition had worked covertly with the WHO to foil the Ancient's plot, but it was clear that they were slowly, but surely, losing the battle.

Bauer had received reports that some of her Inquisitors had been infected. The Warders and the Magi tattooed wards upon them so as to ensure that the infected would not become vectors in spreading it. The only way to stop the plague was to kill its source. She pulled her cloak tighter about her. Was it even possible?

From what she knew, vampire elders over a thousand years old, some who have been alive when the Ancients had been around, had tried. Their description of their Clan Founders possessing god-like powers was not something to be dismissed. Even her Constellation Exorcist teams would find taking down such a monster a problem.

And the vampire Ancients rising weren't the only problem.

The Fallen and their servants been consolidating their holdings on Earth for many years now in preparation for the arrival of their master on Earth. How deep and how far their influenced had extended was the one question that not even the Oracles of Delphi knew; the only thing the Prophetess could tell her was that the servants of Darkness had their hands in everything ranging from regional politics to the global economy.

Now, with the promised hour approaching, they were drawing those webs tighter in order to cripple their enemies' ability to interfere. But, even then, the incestuous feud between the Fallen Legions had yet to abate. Just recently, three Exorcist teams and supporting Militia squads had converged on a single town - Snow's Peak - believed to be used by the Fallen of the Ebon Legion as a breeding facility. They had come prepared to cleanse the town of its taint, but had been unprepared for what they saw when they arrived.

The town of seven thousand had been decimated.

Whatever it was that had scoured the entire area clean of life had been thorough. Not even the pregnant girls and women found deep beneath the town had been spared. Having been violated countless times at the hands of both human and inhuman captors, forced to bring into the world blasphemous creatures with lust and wrath blasted into their souls, their deaths had been a blessing.

But Snow's Peak was not the only town found desolated. Three towns in Central and Southern America that have suddenly gone silent had been found likewise - its inhabitants and defenders massacred. The handiwork of the Ebon Legion's enemies was evident, as were their intent. The enemies of the Ebon Legion were determined to deny the Black Army a foothold on Earth. To prevent a breakdown of social order, the Foreign Affairs Department of the Inquisition had ordered a quarantine on the three towns while Militia teams - in the guise of the WHO - prepared to obfuscate the truth from the world.

Besides, the fall-out of not even trying even with the Masquerade on the brink of going to Hell would see to it that Gaeriel came after her with the nearest blunt instrument and screaming profanities that would make the statues of the Saints and the Saviour blush. The Inquisitor-General chuckled briefly at the image that formed in her mind before turning her thoughts to another situation that may well be another blow to the crumbling Masquerade.

On the beaches of South Africa's Cape Town, tourists and locals who had been sunbathing and enjoying the sights and sounds had borne witness to a sight that has not been seen since the world was young.

They saw an island materialise before their very eyes, moving with a majesty that was breath-taking. An island fortified and flying the banners of the Crimson Legion. Bauer knew that the supernaturals that the Church had fought against over the centuries possessed powers and the ability to combine sorcery with science, but this...! To move an _entire_ island - such a thing was unheard of even in the bygone days of the First Age!

And they had done this without being detected!

What else were the enemies of God capable of? The Kindred had weapons that combined science and sorcery as well as abilities granted to them by the progenitor of their race. The were-beasts had strength and charms granted to them from their blasphemous Triad who served the pagan Mother Goddess whom they believed created the world. And not forgetting the Fallen, who had in their possession powers from the days when they had served as God's loyal angels.

What else would come?

What other monsters would arise in this time of darkness?

And - even though the thought alone bordered on sacrilege - can the might of the army of God stem the flood that was to come? Was it even possible?

_'Well...maybe blow was too light a term,' _Bauer amended, considering the fact that Gaeriel was currently having her hands full dealing with a media that was getting too inquisitive for its own good. She remembered looking at the thick ledger Gaeriel had dropped onto her table several hours ago, and the annoyance it had engendered in her. She did not even need to read what was within the ledger to know what was written on its pages - and the one main reason why those reports were there in the first place.

The supernaturals' shadow war was starting to escalate swiftly into an open one - and it was starting to attract unwanted attention. Governments world-wide - as well as the common masses - are starting to realize that there are _things _lurking in the shadows that have been there for hundreds of years. It did not help matters that with the enemies of God becoming stronger with each passing night, the Exorcist Teams and the Militia divisions had little choice but to break Masquerade in order to defeat them.

Bauer knew that sooner or latter, someone would acquire enough pieces of the puzzle to see the truth that laid masked by a world's cynicism, and the Masquerade would fall finally, to reveal that the legends mankind believed false were true. And when that day came...the Inquisitor-General closed her eyes.

_'Seven bells shall thunder at the behest of God, and humanity shall be judged, and judged harshly. The Creator's mercy shall be as ice, even to His servants, and twice-fold colder to his most beloved creation. The road paved for when heroes were thrown down is wet with their blood and tears, and upon this moment, all shall face Justice's unforgiving wrath.'_

Why did Constance have to be so melodramatic? It did not help that one of said bells thundering had confirmed the one thing that she had known for a long time. Cardinal Wesley had betrayed the Vatican, as had his Silent Throne Exorcist Team. The latter had drawn enough weapons and armour from the Sacred Vault to lay siege to Hell, as well as magical artifacts that have been kept under lock and key. The Master of the Vault had produced paperwork stating that the withdrawal had been legitimate, and the person who had signed them - a Bishop of the Ophanim - had found little reason to deny their request.

_'The fourth knell coincides with the first, a chain of an oath made under the shadows of the mountains of the Holy Land, and shattered the bond that bound a circle of heroes. It shall be a time when honour shall be set against justice, when mercy shall be set against against duty. It shall be a time when monsters rise and the six signs come one after the other.'_

The Inner Circle of the Inquisition had been shocked at the charge of _Extremis Diabolus_ that she had levied against Wesley. Everyone knew she hated him, and had initially believed that she had done so out of spite. But when she laid the evidence before them - evidence that had taken her 6 troublesome hours to acquire - as well as the word of Prophetess Constance that Wesley had indeed left the auspices of the Church, they had ordered that their former compatriot be hunted down.

Bauer had remembered Sharon's face, pale as the charges hit home. She had staggered out, supported by her compatriots. The Inquisitor-General lowered her head, feeling shamed that she had shattered the exalted image that the younger woman had held of the person that she revered above all others. It would be a while before Sharon could get her bearings again, and made a mental note to keep the Scorpio team's captain out of the woodwork for a while.

_'In the First Sign, Dawn Wars with Dusk and a great conflagration ensues.'_

That aside, she had been receiving reports from several Watch Towers in Russia that one of the Ophanim Exorcist teams who combated the undead, the 'Burial Agency', had been giving them trouble. Cardinal Ivanova was a tough person capable of keeping the near-insane commander of the Burial Agency in line, but it was clear from his last missive that it was only a matter of time before he stripped Sylvanna Narbareck of her powers - in every sense of the word - and throwing her into the nearest asylum before another fiasco happened. The last one was averted due to some help from the vampires belonging to the Lancea Sanctum.

_'In the Second Sign, the Blood runs thin and creatures unknown rise.'_

Bauer shivered as a cold wind cut through the thick cloak she wore about her. Why did Wesley choose to keep the knowledge of the error in the Prophecy of the Avatar to himself? It had been the smallest of omissions, but that simple act had had devastating consequences. There was not one Avatar, but twelve.

The stakes had been raised higher than ever before. All that the servants of Satan had to do was lay claim to but one Avatar and the game was over.

_'In the Third Sign, the sons and daughters of the Earth Mother raise up arms to fight against the Corruptor Dragon.'_

Bauer would give her decision to the Council as to the eventual fate of the Avatars in the morning. She remembered the Pope's words, and his stern, tired gaze as he told her that she was in no position to judge. Yes, to fight against Evil was not sin, to smite it from the face of Creation was not wrong. But, when one does a lesser evil, the Holy Father had told her, one will give way again.

**_"Evil grows, Bauer. Before you even realise it, you will be no better than that which you fight against."_**

The fate of humanity was at stake here! What was one life compared to the life of billions? What was twelve? All of them were lost to God anyway!

**_"Let he who is guilty cast the first stone. You see the evil without and have learnt of the evil within, and you have seen all its masks. But, you, Bauer, have yet to understand that my former masters love one mask above all others - that of righteousness. With that mask alone, have they tempted the most pious to sin and the virtuous to fall."_**

'_In the Fourth Sign, the Sky grows red and the wisest fall.'_

The Inquisitor-General snarled at the memory of a dark-haired, amber eyes, former Champion of Satan's Crimson Army, and one-time member of the Order of St. Michael returned to her. The look in his eyes was one that she had seen far too often in Wesley's. While the latter's eyes had held compassion, the former's was scornful.

_'In the Fifth Sign, the Wall that separates the world thins, and all things that were divided during the First Age by His Will, shall be divided again.'_

"What are you planning, Wesley?" she asked the empty sky, her keen eyesight noting the plane that flew high in the night sky as it left Rome International Airport. The last lead she had about his whereabouts was four days old, from MIlitia agents from London's Heathrow International Airport. There, they said, he had met up with his allies: a pair of were-beasts, a female vampire and her two half-breed children. One of the agents had tailed them to the city's outskirts.

The agent was found hours later in a broom closet in the University of London where he had tailed the Cardinal and his compatriots, delirious from blood loss. When his superiors had questioned him some time later, they soon found evidence that their compatriot's memory had been tampered with. He could not remember anything save that the Cardinal had gone to the University to meet someone. Whoever it was, they would find out soon enough.

_'In the Sixth Sign, the Damned are loosed and the world burns. The armies of Creation assemble for the final Symphony-shattering battle. Ragnarok comes.'_

But, from the last report she knew that Wesley and his Exorcist team were heading for the United States, presumably to find the Avatars and deliver them into the waiting arms of the Adversary. Prophetess Constance and the mullah Seer-Council have sworn to assist her in finding the Avatars, which eliminated the problem of sifting through the masses to find that one soul that could decide the outcome.

_'And when it ends, for all the fire and thunder that comes with the end, it is for those chosen few that it ends with the softest of whispers promising a promise that will never come. May never come.'_

Bauer sank to her knees beneath the starlit skies, one hand going to a hand-crafted crucifix beneath her nightgown, and prayed. She prayed that what she had decided to do was the right thing for the entire world.

_'And if your decisions, young Bauer, are wrong, then may God help us all. For in this time of Judgement, there is no mercy in His heart. One mistake is all that it will take to condemn us all.'_

**X X X X X X**

_**Israel, Gaza Strip, Gaza City, Hotel Beirut, 0430 hrs, Monday, 20th September 1999**_

Wesley sighed quietly as he sat across from Sings-the-Dawn. The hulking Red Indian shaman hailed from one of the native American tribes. The feathers that hung from his braided, grey-shot hair and the wisdom in his eyes bespoke of rank and hard-earned wisdom. Sings-the-Dawn was one of the best oracles in the Navaho tribes and his affinity with the spirits of nature far surpassed the Theurges of the were-beasts clans. Sings-the-Dawn owed Wesley a favour he and his tribe could not repay for assistance rendered over twenty years ago when the Paladins of St. Michael had come to their aid to cast down a mighty, fell spirit that they had bound over two hundred years ago.

That imprisoned spirit's name had been Sarthus. He had been one of the Archduke Leviathan's mortal warmasters, slain during the closing days of Lucifer's rebellion. His was a rank higher than even Shateiel's when the latter had been in the service of the Baroness Cameela, and his mastery of Fallen lore was such that it allowed him to cheat former master by becoming an Earthbound spirit. For thousands of years, he had been a blight upon the race he had once been part of, worshipped in many parts of the world as a god of famine and pestilence. In the end, the Navaho Red Indian tribes of America had bound him, combining the might of the were-beasts' Charms and their rites to imprison the mighty ghost. The seals they had bound him with had held strong for generations, until greedy corporate agents had come trying to drive the tribe off the land.

Wesley remembered the terrible battle that had cost the Navaho tribe dearly as they attempted to bind the mighty Earthbound spirit once more. The shamans, the last surviving, had wanted to imprison it once more, but Shateiel had not been so forgiving. He had opened a gateway to Hell, and proceeded to toss the screaming spirit into it, deaf to its pleas for mercy and oaths of fealty. The Cardinal remembered the whispers of the damned, before the crescendo of voices chanting his friend's name, and the howls of glee as he flung Sarthus into the Abyss for a reckoning long overdue with its ruler.

But, before the portal slammed shut, Wesley had heard a feminine voice cutting through the voices of the damned, speaking his friend's name, voicing an unspoken command to return to his place as a general in the legions of the damned. The look on Shateiel's face was one he had seen on many a devil-worshipper who were faced with the hard choice of surrendering what they had gained and returning to God's grace or remaining true to the pact they made with their demonic overlords.

The number of those, Shateiel had told him when they spoke later, could be counted on the fingers and toes of the both of them.

_'But I am not one of them.'_

That was something Shateiel had left unspoken, but Wesley heard it all the same.

The saints and prophets had told the faithful that the path to redemption was steep and rife with pitfalls. God's forgiveness was not for the asking; one had to earn it. But, what he had done twenty years ago made it impossible for him to even ask it of the Creator. A mullah had told him that the only way that one can honour God was to do the right thing, and that the Creator, in His eternal wisdom and mercy, will understand.

The tests He levies upon those He loves the most are the hardest. And sometimes...just sometimes, to pass that test meant that one had to fail.

_'When things go right, people say that it is His Will. If things go wrong, they say He works in mysterious ways. I'm sorry, Wesley. I cannot believe as devoutly as you or any who kneels before the feet of the Tyrant. I have never seen His mercy, nor felt it. If what is happening in this world is His will, then He is an even greater liar than the Morningstar.' _

Wesley sipped his tea once more. If he could go back in time, he would not have chosen differently. If what he was doing now was wrong, then the coming weeks would show the results of his folly. If God's wrath was what awaited him at the turn of the millennium, then so be it. For all he knew, Cameela may well have lied to him about the 12 Avatars. She was first and foremost, a devil. But, what Sings-the-Dawn had told him about the Prophecy of the Avatar coincided with a prophecy that the Red Indian tribes had kept under lock and key for centuries.

He remembered the words still: _'The wings of the Spirit of Chaos, cast down by the Sky Father, shall split the soil of our Mother Earth, as She takes wing to challenge Him once again. She will come onto this world, in mortal flesh of which there shall be as many as there as there are hours from highest noon to darkest night, and lead her armies to challenge her Father once more.'_

One part confused Wesley. In Christian, Muslim and Jewish legend, the Adversary had always been described as a masculine figure, never feminine. Sings-the-Dawn had chuckled, telling him that those who ascribe to the Word of the Sky Father have always refused to believe that His Fallen children comprised not only of His sons, but His daughters as well. Some of those that Fell were spirits of nature that the Red Indians knew, and were female, born from the breath of the Earth Mother at the Sky Father's command.

_"There are powers in this world that the Church does fully accept, and regards them as pagan gods. But they are real, and their power is potent. Once upon a time, they may well have knelt before God, and even now, they may very well be carrying out His will. There is not one spirit in this world or any other that does not dare acknowledge the sovereign will of the Creator. The greatest flaw of your Church is that it demonizes anything not related to its scripture," _Sings-the-Dawn had told him.

Indeed, Wesley could not deny the fact that the Church has made its share of mistakes. Being a religion made by men for mankind, it was inherently flawed. All things made by the hands of humanity were inherently imperfect, but it was that fleetingness of perfection that made such things beautiful. Few things lasted the test of eternity, but such things can make Creation shudder at the memory of when such things were possible.

"Am I doing the right thing?" Wesley finally spoke after two hours of silence.

The Red Indian merely smiled, "You've already done the right thing twenty years ago. The test then had been yours, and you passed. What happens now is a test for the human race," and the smile faded, "and it is one that they may well fail. That is why we are doing what we are doing now - to prevent that failure."

"And if we are wrong? What if our actions cast us all into the pyre? What if the test was one of conviction? What if Cameela lied?"

"May I be blunt?" Sings-the-Dawn asked.

Wesley nodded.

"I don't care what others think, Cardinal. I do what I feel is right. And if our actions cast us into the devil's embrace, so what? Our race has done enough evil to deserve that fate, and it surprises me that the Sky Father has not done so generations ago. And yes, this is a test of conviction - a test of what you believe to be right and wrong. And do you think that the the Sky Father's fallen daughter will lie? I don't think she will. Not this time. From what I know about her, she loves her lover's children as though they were her own. You heard it from her lips; your powers knew that there was not an ounce of deception in her words. And if she wanted to trap you, why would she be giving you this much assistance?"

Wesley found himself unable to answer. The Red Indian shaman had hit the nail right on the head.

"And why would the Oracles of Delphi and the mullah Seer-Council in Teheran aid you even as they play their hands against your Church?"

Nothing came to mind.

"And why is it that one of the Avatars will come to you?"

Wesley's eyes widened suddenly as he felt a miasma of power practically swamp him, as if searching, before it focused on him, as if it had been looking for him specifically. The Cardinal shot up, his hand reaching for the gun beneath his coat, and whirling to face a young girl - no more than 17 - running into his arms as voices of protest in Israeli demanded that she stop. Her clear grey eyes met his, and recognition dawned in them.

"I've found you, Wesley of the Silver Hand..."

That voice...! It was not possible! That musical, soft voice that haunted his dreams...

"Silvanna...?" he choked out.

"No, not Silvanna. Rasha..." the girl whispered softly. The shaman was smiling at Wesley. That gesture told Wesley that what he did next was up to him. In his arms was the Avatar that would have taken them precious time to find, and one that Prophetess Constance said would lead him to all the rest. In that moment, Wesley made his decision. He concentrated briefly, allowing his powers to hide the teenage girl from the view of the hotel's workers, who paused briefly to ask him where she was before speeding off in the direction he had indicated.

Sings-the-Dawn smiled, looking at the sight of the girl who had practically glomped a man more than twice her age like she had found a treasured toy. Even as the Cardinal unwound the arms the girl had thrown around him, the shaman saw a dark-haired man with familiar amber eyes resting against the pillars. He gave the figure a ghost of a nod, almost a bow - a gesture that was returned.

_'It will seem that death cannot overcome duty, old friend...'_

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City outskirts, Tsuki restaurant, Monday, 20th September 1999, 0845 hrs**_

When Saya Mikage first came to, she found herself looking up at a familiar ceiling. She was at home. But how did she...? She attempted to rise, only to find herself crashing back onto her futon as she felt her head pound like all the forges of Hell. Damn it...how much did she drink yesterday night? Considering that she needed help to get back home, she concluded, it must have been a lot.

But who brought her back?

Saya saw that she was clad in a loose shirt and underwear. Her eyes widened. Whoever did this had a lot to answer for! Not even her nephew had dared to change her clothes whenever she came home drunk from clubbing. The first time he had done so, she had dunked him into the restaurant's koi pond. Only three people had ever dared to change her clothes without incurring her wrath, and all of them were long gone. Saya hugged herself as the pain she had attempted to drink away the night before returned.

She hated this. She hated this feeling of being utterly alone. It was like she was drowning, sinking ever deeper into a cold darkness that promised nothing but the memories of her many failures. In the privacy of her own room, Saya Mikage could well and truly admit that she was not as strong as she believed herself to be. Beneath that strong exterior was a lonely, unhappy girl that wanted the things everyone else stood for granted.

Sure, they were no shortage of guys to see to it that she never will be, but Saya was not her outgoing sister. She could never be her sister. Saya turned her green eyes onto the portrait of her sister, her biker gang, and her brother-in-law, all of them smiling from a moment that was cherished even as it was long gone. How Saya wanted to go back to those days she could wake the neighbours with the row she and Reiha had had when the latter worked under her.

But, the past was closed to her. Makoto had said it often enough, that _baka_, that the future will be better than the past if one treasures the present. A knock on the door broke her out of her thoughts, and she turned to see her nephew enter her room with a tray with a cup of hot tea. He smiled, "How are you feeling, Saya oba-san?"

She growled at him, his voice slamming into her brain like a sledgehammer, warning her nephew to lower his voice - or else. Makoto shook his head in exasperation before lowering the tray within reaching distance of his aunt. He watched silently as his aunt sipped at the hot beverage. It was five minutes before she asked in a soft voice, "What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

Saya's eyes widened, when she realised that her nephew was not dressed for school. Before she could voice it, Makoto's finger rested on her lips, "I've already briefed Ryuki-san and Kiyone-san about the party that the owner of law firm is holding here tonight. Ryuki tells me that he can get everything ready before I get back from school, so you need not worry. And yes, because of you, I'm going to get my head cut off when I reach school."

"Who brought me back?"

"The one person who can save me when I get to school - Saori-sensei?"

"That _kitsune-onna?_"

"Yes," Makoto said, shivering at the price his teacher had exacted on him. He had been forced to cook her a hot dinner, as well as today's breakfast and a packed bento set of her choosing. If his aunt heard about this, she would be deducting the amount from his monthly salary.

"She was the one who helped me bathe and change?"

Makoto nodded.

"I owe her a big favour."

"That you do, Saya oba-san," Makoto replied, remembering what his teacher had told him about some guys who had been intent on picking up girls that night at the nightclub the two of them had patronised. His aunt's state of mind was, according to his teacher, unstable at that time. She had intervened before two guys with more than flirting with girls on their mind got any farther. Makoto owed his teacher big-time.

"The next time you go out, _obasan_, perhaps it would be wiser if you went out with someone. What would have happened if Saori-sensei wasn't there to bring you home? With the Kiyamachi Slayer still at large, I don't want to have to find out that you were found in some alleyway torn to pieces."

Saori could only apologise in a meek voice.

Makoto turned his eyes on the clock, "I'd better get ready to go to school."

Saya chuckled, "Yeah, you'd better. Otherwise Yuko-sensei will skin you alive."

"I can hear her sharpening the knife already," Makoto laughed lightly, before he leaned forward and kissed his aunt on the cheek, a gesture that all but paralysed the fiery woman with its tenderness. When he withdrew, he said, "But, you're worth it."

Saya socked him lightly, and Makoto left the room, laughing. She chuckled, and touched the spot her nephew had touched. It didn't take her long to realise that her hangover was gone, and the heaviness in her heart had dissipated.

**X X X X X X**

_**20 minutes later, Tsuki Restaurant front gate...**_

Saori Kagoshima waited patiently in her car, humming a happy tune as she ran over a mental checklist of what she had to do today when she got to work. Satisfied that everything could be done by the end of the day, she turned her mind to her favourite tease. It was the first time she had ever visited Makoto's home - and the first time she had ever stepped foot into _Tsuki_, or tasted its food, for that matter. She had heard the glowing reviews about its dishes, but having tasted it, the fox could safely say that it surpassed her expectations. And the fact that Makoto had cooked it had surprised her. It raised his standing, in her eyes, several notches higher. She had gone to sleep with a full stomach and a resolution to patronise the restaurant again when she received her pay cheque.

The brown-haired teacher had also studied her student's bedroom when the latter had taken a bath earlier on. It was everything she imagined it to be. Makoto was not a bookworm, but the shelves practically overflowed with books covering a wide range of topics. She had seen amongst them books of literature, history, religion and philosophy. Among them, she had found old textbooks from Kyoto University's Engineering faculty. Knowing that these could not possibly be Makoto's, she glanced past the first few pages, and discovered them to be the property of his parents.

Holding a place of pride on those shelves was a picture taken over a decade ago of the entire family. In it, Saori saw a beautiful woman with golden hair, eyes glittering with passion and life standing next to a lean foreigner with brown hair and blue-grey eyes. In the arms of the woman was a small child, waving happily at the camera. A small child with a familiar mop of hair and blue-grey eyes. Saori smiled. Even as a child, Makoto was cute.

Remembering the sometimes sobre look on his face at times, the smile left the teacher's lips as she remembered the time she had first seen the scars on his body, a testament to lost innocence and shattered faith. The story that Makoto told her several days after their fateful meeting at what they had both believed to be a quiet swim at the school pool had caused her blood to run cold.

He had told her that his mother had had the courage to leap into freedom, and consequences be damned, and his father had been there to spur her to fly. Both Kusakabe Shihana and her younger sister (and Makoto's aunt) Kusakabe Saya (later Mikage Saya) had been related to the influential Mikage family through their father. After their father had perished, the family had summarily disowned the family of one of their most promising children. What happened next was a series of hard decisions that had solidified the characters of both women. Saori wished that she had such fortitude.

But, seeing Saya Mikage as she was the night before, Saori knew that there were some parts of the story Makoto did not know, and that it would be most discourteous to uncover. Some secrets, she knew, were best left unspoken.

"Saori-chan..."

"Eh...!" and the teacher turned to see the face of Mikage Saya. Saori gave a strangled 'eep!' as a smile of amusement curved the face of the latter. Now she knew why Makoto grumbled about his aunt's methods of waking him up. With those fierce green eyes, unbound copper hair and defiant grin, Saya Mikage could look every bit the devil who was roused at a bad time. And even when the second attribute was fixed up, it only made her look like a devil who was ready to give anyone who gave her a hard time a hard foot. But, Saori noted, Saya Mikage was a beautiful devil who looked younger than her thirty years. Like her older sister, Saya had a firm, lithe body that would make a swimsuit model envious.

"Sorry to scare you, but this is for you," Saya said as she handed the teacher a boxed bento set, "It's my way of saying thanks for bringing me home yesterday night. I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble. Also, please help my _baka_ nephew with that mad-woman in your school."

"Don't worry about it, Saya-san. After all, you are the aunt of my favourite tease. It's the least I can do to ensure that I continue having teasing privileges."

The copper-haired woman laughed, "By all means, please do. That boy could use more women in his life than an old one like me."

Saori saw a chance to give her student hell, and took it. Fox ears popping out of her head, she told Saya that the recent transfer students to her nephew's school had taken a liking to him. One of them had, from what she had heard, given him a kiss a few days back in full view of everyone. Saori saw jealousy on the older woman's face as the latter did a smart about turn and marched back into the inn.

The teacher grinned as she caught sight of Makoto running out and practically tearing open the door to her car and demanding she step on the gas before the 'Demoness of Kyoto' got to him. Saori laughed for minutes thereafter.

But when Saori switched on the car's radio, the mood in the car became somber.

The Kiyamachi Slayer had claimed another victim.

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto High School, Kyoto City, Japan, 1030 hrs, Monday, 20th September 1999**_

Lilith smiled inwardly as news of Hisayashi Goro's murder spread throughout the entire school like wildfire, and the fact that that piece of mortal shit and his friends were all in police custody had been the icing on the cake. She flexed the hand that she had used to choke Goro's soul as Hell reached forth to claim its newest prize, and chuckled softly, remembering the heady taste of power. Had she but wrapped her hand in hellfire, it would have annihilated Goro from the face of Creation. But, such was not the dictates of the Crimson Legion, which demanded that its followers send as many souls as it could to its strongholds so as to allow it to feed the rebel angels and their daemon soldiers.

But still...!

"Lilith," spoke the voice over her cell-phone, "Are you listening to what I have been saying?"

"I have. But I doubt that it will work, Areil. Kusakabe-kun is hardly to sort to think with his loins. He is not Sahaka."

"But he is still mortal, Lilith."

"And the son of the Crimson Angel who was but a step away from becoming one of us, albeit without any of our weaknesses due to the fact that he was born human."

"He was still human enough to take several lovers and have children by them," Areil replied, "And being human means that they will always have chinks in their armour which we can use to our advantage, sister. Will Makoto be any different?"

Lilith felt her eyes narrow, and she was about to fire back a scathing reply when an idea popped into her mind. She grinned, "How about a wager, Areil?"

"A wager?" Areil sounded curious. If there was something Lilith knew her brother loved, it was gambling. And with his skills honed over centuries and in the gambling dens of the mortal world and the Abyss, he found it nigh irresistable to pitch his skills in games of chance.

"Yes."

"What are the stakes?"

"One is if you win, I'll pay you half of what is in my personal Swiss account. On the other hand, if I win, you go back to Hell and grab us some Agony."

"Eh...!"

"No As or Bs, Areil."

Silence...and finally, "Alright, sis, you're on. No backing out now."

"Oh, I won't," Lilith grinned, as she ended the call. Her eyes caught sight of a familiar car belonging to Makoto's form teacher. Surprising...she was late for work, something that was strange into itself. Saori Kagoshima, despite her childishness, was a professional, and acted like one. Lilith's crimson eyes widened when she saw Makoto emerge from her car. She chuckled softly as her enhanced hearing picked up their conversation. The brown-haired teacher was teasing Makoto mercilessly.

Lilith hopped off the ledge, smiling, "Like father, like son. But, you're mine, Makoto."

**X X X X X X**

_**At the same time...**_

Sophia was on her cellphone, but the voice that spoke in her ear came from a place humanity knew only in biblical legend. The female angel had used a communications Charm in this fashion when speaking to her compatriots, so as not to be found talking to her herself. It was a common method used by most of her kind when they were undertaking missions on Earth as it allowed them to remain inconspicuous.

But, her shaky voice had caused more than one head to turn her way, each wondering what had distressed the golden-haired _gaijin_ so. Sophia had taken to speaking in German, a language she knew that none of the her classmates understood.

"Are you sure about this, Saganiel?"

Saganiel, a Cherubim, was Sophia's only contact in Heaven. He would update her on the latest events in the Celestial realm and convey any instructions from the Archangel to her. As one of the Archangel of the Star Fall's lowest-ranking captains, Saganiel had the relative freedom needed to oversee the mission while ensuring that the Celestial Inquisition's suspicion would not be arouse on what they believed to be a simple scouting mission. Saganiel had taken the initiative to send down some of his subordinates to ensure that his cover story had some substance.

"Positive. Our Superior has gone down to ground zero with as many of our legion as she could muster to deal with the supernaturals that have run amok there. The city of Manhattan in the United States is a total mess. Disorder, looting and riots erupted scant hours after the earthquake struck and its emergency services are stretched to near-breaking point. Archangel Dominic is furious with our Superior for disobeying God's command, and has convened the Council to strip her of her rank."

Sophia was aghast, "For doing the right thing? That's ridiculous..."

"Disobedience against our Father's wishes carries a heavy penalty, Sophia. But, for once, I agree with you. What Dominic is doing is stupid. Do you remember the rumours of withdrawal that have been going around for the past few decades?"

"Yes...?" and the pieces fell into place, "No...our Father wouldn't..."

"It has already been done, Sophia. God has given the command."

"But...but...the mortal world...!"

"I know!" Saganiel shouted through the other end, frustration in his voice, "I know! I have allies down there I don't want to abandon, Sophia, all right! This is tearing me apart! For the first time in as long as I have lived, I don't know **_what_** to do..."

Sophia fell silent. Never once in the long time since the First Age has she ever seen or heard Saganiel sound so despairing and so tormented. And she felt afraid. As God had commanded all of His servants to return to Heaven, Sophia was bound by potent oaths to obey. But in doing so, she would be abandoning Makoto to a fate worse than death.

Was sacrificing him the right thing to do?

Should she obey God?

And if she disobeyed, what would happen to her? Would the Celestial Inquisition send out the malhim to hunt her down? Would she be cast down?

"Sophia...?"

Is it the right thing to do? Obey God, and return to Heaven? Or remain here and protect someone who was starting to mean a lot to her?

"Sophia...?"

When was it that Makoto had crept into her heart? Was it when she had first started watching him? Was it when she had, for the first time, whispered softly in his ear when he slept to ease the pain of his memories? Before she knew it, the mental image of a young man with blue-grey eyes and brown hair, his smile warm and mischievous, was brighter than all that was real.

Why did she come to Earth for? Was it out of duty? Was it to do the right thing? Yes, when she Descended, it had been about both. But now...now it was more.

"Sophia!"

"I'm sorry, Saganiel..." Sophia said softly, "I will not return."

Saganiel fell silent at that, before finally speaking, "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Sophia's voice was firm.

Another silence.

When the Cherubim replied, Sophia could almost see the smile on her compatriot's face, "You've grown strong, Sophia. This will be the last time you and I will ever speak, so listen carefully. I have it from my contacts inside the Lower Seraphim Council that Dominic will be using our Superior's trial to push forward the motion of hunting down the Avatars."

"What...!"

"You heard me. And the worst part is that the chances of it being rejected by the Hierarchs of the High Council is extremely low. Should they help the Vatican Inquisition in their blood-hunt, the chances of the Avatars living to see the dawn of the new millennium are almost negligible," Saganiel said, "Added to the fact that the Avatar you're watching over is one the Crimson Angel's many children, there will be more than a handful of our brothers and sisters that will want to settle the score simply to spite his ghost."

"I will not let it happen," Sophia said, "His father's sins are not his. I will protect him, even if it means my life."

"It may very well come to that, Sophia. Not only will you be facing those who have once been your friends, but those of the Fallen who want to take Satan's Obsidian Throne. This is a golden opportunity that comes once in a thousand years, and no one who has a stake in this will be foolish enough to let it pass them by."

"Saganiel...I will need weapons and Charms to help me in my task. Is it possible...?"

"It has already been done," Saganiel cut her off, "I will leave it in your haven. The address is still the same, correct?"

"Yes."

"Oh, and Sophia, there is something you might want to know. Do you know Katsuragi Tsubaki?"

"Shateiel's lover? Yes, I do..."

"She's in Kyoto."

"Eh...?" Sophia's eyes widened.

"No As or Bs, Sophia," Saganiel deadpanned, "She's in Kyoto. I have it from reliable sources that she may be there for the same reasons you are. I will strongly advise that you speak with the _miko_, if only to affirm your intentions about the Avatar. She will make a powerful ally - and the way things are now, you will need as many as you can gather."

Sophia thought it best not to mention to Saganiel that she had made a pact with Lilith. She did not trust the female devil, but at least, for now, they shared the same objective.

"Thank you, Saganiel," Sophia said.

"Godspeed, Sophia."

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto High School, Class 2-4. 1100 hrs, Monday, 20th September 1999**_

Amaya-sensei's crisp voice and vivid details of the Second World War held the entire class's attention. Normally, history class would be Makoto's favourite, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He need only look at his desk's inbuilt lap-top to know that his classmate's attentions were focused on current events. The messages that were flying around on the class's chat-room were regarding the death of Hisayashi Goro, one of Sahaka's friends, in the nightclub that the Mikage family delinquent scion had booked for a private party.

As suspects in the murder, Sahaka, his gang and their hanger-ons had been taken into police custody. Makoto could not suppress the feeling of vindictive glee that surged through him, the mental image of his cousin explaining to the police that he had nothing to do with his friend's murder causing him to smile ferally. There was no way that the family would be able to get him out of this one without putting their reputation on the line. The media had already seen to that.

The only thing preventing the police from throwing Sahaka and his gang into prison was the fact that the forensics team could find no weapon short of steak knives that could turn a human body into a dismembered corpse with a single, clean stroke. Shinichi had discretely messaged him the information only minutes before via their private chatline.

"Makoto-san!" the teacher's voice called out, "Can you please read the 3rd paragraph?"

Makoto gave a mental squeak as a soft laugh, rich with amusement, echoed in his mind, _'Being caught off-guard is an unforgiveable sin.'_

For once, Makoto could not help but agree with that voice. The smirk on Amaya-sensei's face told him that she was about to make sure he remembered that for life.

"A twenty-page report on the Second World War, due tomorrow!"

Makoto groaned even as his classmates exploded in laughter.

**X X X X X X**

_**Tokyo, Nanyo High School, Japan, 1200 hrs, Monday, 20th September 1999**_

Kanu Unchou, A-rank prime _toushi _of the _Chi no ryuu _and student of Seito High, strode through the corridors of Nanyo High, her white and blue sailor uniform causing her to stand out amidst the brown-jerseys and white-uniforms that the students of Nanyo High wore. Added to the fact that she was carrying Reienkyo on her person only served to cause more heads to turn. A naginata was not exactly the most concealable weapon, but Kanu's Disciplines allowed it to be camouflaged as a training naginata used by the martial art schools in Tokyo. The normal students saw it as such but the few _Chi no ryuu _left in Nanyo High saw the weapon as it really was.

More than one had them had almost called their sentient weapons to them when they saw her. A brief glance in their direction, however, told them that to initiate a fight right now would be most unwise. And besides, she was not here for a fight. And Kanu thanked the spirits that Hakufu Sonsaku, the Howling Dragon of Tokyo, had been called away to deal with a pack of were-beasts that had been causing trouble in the city's seedier districts.

The Dragon of the Winter Sea could not help but say a prayer for those were-beasts. The Howling Dragon would demolish them in short order. If Hakufu could take on a coalition of Dragon Thrones as she had during the Reckoning, a were-beast pack - even if they were all Rank 2 - would be easy. But, the fact that Hakufu Sonsaku had become the Dragon Throne of Nanyo High's _chi no ryuu_ was mind-boggling to the other Dragon Thrones in the region. Her strength and intelligence were inversely proportional to each other.

Added to the fact that the Howling Dragon bore within her power that was capable of turning her into an unstoppable monster. She remembered that incident very well. The Howling Dragon's cousin - and the person Kanu was going to see - Koukin Shyuyu, the Sentinel Wind, impaled to the concrete wall with the Howling Dragon's newly acquired Hyaku-Kekitou. Ukitsu, the Stormy Whirlwind, had been badly injured and over a dozen _chi no ryuu _of Gogun High hospitalised. It had taken the Seishino family some doing to cover up the incident as a gang fight. The thought of the general public finding out that those explosions had come from one frenzied girl with an IQ inversely proportional to her bust size instead of a blown gas pipeline (done by the Howling Dragon, also) was enough to give even Kanu nightmares.

It had taken the _chi no ryuu _of Gogun High a high level ritual to alter the memories of everyone within a 10-block radius later on. It was a stroke of luck that one of the Ritemasters had been in school that day.

But, what Kanu had to discuss with Koukin was important, and if someone in Nanyo interfered with her meeting him, they were going to spend a day in the infirmary. She could have approached Sagi Genpou, the Tower of Storms, or Gakushu, the Wall of Fortitude. Neither of them were in school when she had asked, and so that left the Sentinel Wind. She chuckled, remembering their first meeting. He had almost lost his head in a fight against a Rank 3 were-beast.

Cute boy - just her type. And a virgin - up several points. A considerate lover, considering the way he treated that big-breasted cousin of his - definitely her type. Loyal to a fault - definitely a keeper, if not for his low self-esteem, but Kanu could clear that one given a few days alone with him - or a few weeks. And he was a good fighter - most definitely worth pounding, in both senses of the word.

Kanu found Koukin on the rooftop, staring out in the distance, his hair ruffled by the wind. The Dragon of the Winter Sea felt the the wind stroke her cheek softly in greeting, an indication that Koukin knew that she was there.

"It's rare to find you here alone, Sentinel Wind," Kanu said as she strode forward.

"I take it that this is about business, Kanu?" Koukin asked, "It's not like you to simply waltz into my school's territory without a good reason. How's your side doing?"

Kanu's eyes narrowed, "Not good. I've got 13 people on my side taken down by several Black Whirlwinds packs, and Gogun High has twice that many. What about you?"

"37 in 12 skirmishes. Ryumou's badly injured. She'll be out of the combat roster for at least a week. I've put two owl spirits on her to ensure that the Black Spirals don't catch her off-guard."

Kanu's eyes widened.

"It is evident that the Black Whirlwinds are trying to take down Nanyo High. I've sent a report to the Templar Circle in Todai; we'll get a few 'transfer students' to help us. This is crazy. It's like they're planning to take down Nanyo, but I do not know the reason why. There're weaker targets..."

"And that is why I'm here. Have your reports mentioned anything about the Fallen?"

"The rebel angels...?" Koukin replied before falling silent, "Not quite...wait...there was one several days back. Rakuyou High's Ryofu Housen and her team had clashed with a Black Whirlwind pack led by one. From what I heard, it was quite powerful. Most probably a Category 4 fallen. She almost lost."

"Category 4!"

"Yes. Had Saji and his guys not stepped in..." Koukin did not finish the sentence. Both of them knew what the Black Whirlwinds did to female _chi no ryuu _that fell into their hands. Their violated bodies would never be found until months later. Kanu remembered that look in his eyes. The first time he had seen what had happened to his female compatriots had left the Sentinel Wind with a bitter hatred of the Black Whirlwind were-beast packs.

"But, that aside, do you remember the explosion at the docks some days back?"

Koukin nodded.

"Well, our contacts in the police force have found something at the crime scene," Kanu said, "Here, hold this..." and handed Koukin her naginata before pulling out an object wrapped in oiled cloth. Koukin returned the Dragon of the Winter Sea's weapon before taking the package. When he unwrapped it, his eyes widened.

It was the hilt of a longsword, ornate in gold and silver, with twin serpents coiled around a cross. An angelic longsword!

"This is...!"

"That's why I'm here. No Fallen can wield this, not even their servants. There can be only one reason why this was found. The servants of Kami-sama are on Earth. And if they are fighting this openly, it can only mean..."

"...that the end-game is about to begin," Koukin finished, and channeled power into the sword, allowing a bluish-white blade of flame to erupt from the hilt, "The gloves have finally come off. I'm going to speak to our Church contacts latter today. Do you want to come with me?"

Koukin realised too late the words that had come out of his mouth. _'You are sooo dead, Kou-chan,' _a scantily-clad image of Kanu on his shoulder, holding a pitchfork and smiling evilly. The angelic figure of his cousin flashed her opposition a thumbs-up, _'Go get him! And if he still has strength, I'll take my turn!'_

_'You got it, girl.'_

"I'll come with you."

Oh hell...

Koukin would voice that curse aloud when he saw the news an hour later.

(**_A.N. : _**Tokyo is an hour ahead of Kyoto (i.e. : 12 in the former is 11 in the latter), from what I remembered. If I'm wrong, sorry...)

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City, Japan, Kyoto High School canteen, 1215 hrs, 20th September 1999**_

The normally lively canteen of Kyoto High was utterly silent, the only sound being the voice of reporter emerging from the television's speakers as she reported live from the devastated American city of New York, half-a-world away. Everyone could hear the sounds of explosions and gunfire intermingled with the sounds of sirens in the background. Even without needing to see the rest of the city, Katsuragi Tsubaki knew that the entire region was totally devastated.

The swordswoman put aside her chopsticks, as she listened to the television.

**_"New York was hit yesterday at 2045 hrs local time by an earthquake measuring 5.2 on the Richter scale. Geological experts have reason to believe that a more powerful earthquake is on the way, with the one that happened the night before a mere prelude of one that may be as high as 8. The Mayor of the city has issued an evacuation order, and as you behind me, Michiko-san, the streets are packed with people trying to flee the city."_**

_"What are the damages there like, Shiranui-san?"_

The brown-haired reporter brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, **_"The situation out here is chaotic. The destruction from the earthquake the night before is widespread, Michiko. No one had expected it; even the National Geological Institute saw no foreshadowing of a quake of this magnitude. Regardless, hundreds, if not thousands, are injured and the hospitals are stretched to breaking point with the constant influx of those wounded in the aftermath of the quake. People are being ferried in by ambulance, by taxi and by the hands of their friends and relatives."_**

_"What is the death toll like?"_

**_"I don't have the numbers, Michiko, but I believe that the death toll may well exceed eight thousand."_**

_"Eight thousand...!"_

_**"And it promises to get higher. Power grid is down; many parts of the city are shrouded in total darkness. Social order has broken down in many parts of the city and the police are just as badly-stretched as the city's emergency services trying to contain the rioting and looting that have exploded in the wake of the earthquake. Gangs have taken advantage of the ensuing chaos to carry out private vendettas; you can hear the gunfights raging several blocks from where I am."**_

_"Are the police doing anything to suppress the disorder?"_

_**"They're doing what their best. Also, Michiko, this may sound silly...but I got word from some of my contacts about strange events happening in the city. Eyewitnesses say that they saw...things...fight amidst the ruins of the city."**_

_"What 'things'?"_

_**"Now, don't start going skeptical on me, Michiko. When one, two, maybe three people start telling me this, I would normally write them off as crazy...but when ten, twenty people all start saying the same thing, I don't think they were seeing things."**_

_"Well, what was it they saw?"_

What the reporter said next caused the silence in the canteen to deepen, before snickers and laughter erupted. Even the newscaster, Michiko, was trying her best not to laugh. The only people Tsubaki saw were not laughing was the blue-haired teacher, the two German transfer students, and Shateiel's son with Shihana.

_**"They claimed they saw...werewolves fighting against a demon."**_

_"A demon? Shiranui, have you been drinking?" _

Tsubaki realised immediately that the newscaster and the reporter had a rivalry. The twitch of the latter's eyebrow, and the sarcastic tone of the former told the swordswoman that much. But before the reporter could answer, something hissed through the television's speakers, causing everyone - including the newcaster and the reporter - to freeze as fears long-buried in the psyche of humanity rose to the fore. A voice that had borne witness to the memory of a golden era brought to an end by the greed and hubris of men who aspired for godhood.

And it belonged to one of those terrible vampire Ancients, a monster that had once been human: **_'Kneel before me, children of Adam; Kneel before your God, for I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.'_**

For the briefest of moments in the deep silence, the temperature in the canteen plummeted, freezing body and soul. The _miko_'s head snapped towards the source of the unholy frost, and her eyes widened. It came from Makoto.

And his gentle, grey eyes that she had come to know, were crimson and filled with malice and unimaginable power.

**X X X X X X**

Lilith could not believe it. Even though it was for but a heartbeat, she sensed the sleeting winds of Cocytus, the icy winds that burned like fire. She had half-expected every soul within the building to be reduced to ash in that instant, but when a wave of warmth rushed into her veins, Lilith released the breath she realised she had been holding. When did he learn that Charm? Only the highest-ranking cult Magisters of the Fallen and the Dark Exalted knew of such a high-level Charm, and even fewer possessed the finesse to control it in the way Makoto had. Had he lost control, not even she would walk away unscathed.

But...the question remained as to why he displayed such power. Could it be...? Could it be that the Ascension was coming?

**X X X X X X**

Ruida whirled around, throwing the chair she had been sitting on to the ground, her hands becoming furred and taloned as she called upon her Disciplines in preparation for battle. Was Lilith finally making her move to take her and Sophia out of the equation? An incantation to smite her enemy with divine fire was on her lips, but they froze when she saw the source of the unholy emanation.

"Makoto...?"

But, in that heartbeat, the expression on her student's face was not the familiar, gentle face of the student who had made her exile bearable, but one she did not know. And in that moment, the mighty Angel of Death felt something that she had never felt for an age: fear.

**X X X X X X**

Sophia could not move. What she _saw_ with her Disciplines had been more than enough to paralyse her. The eddy of Cocytus's icy breath spiralled around the faintest image of shadowy wings unfurling from his body, chilling the room in a pulsating wave of icy evil. Was he Ascending already? Here? Now? Should the Morningstar incarnate at this instant, the school and every soul within a 50 block radius was finished. Not even Lilith or even Ruida would be unable to walk away from such an explosion of power unscathed.

But, then, suddenly, when warmth flooded her veins, she saw something else. Those wings, shadowy before, changed to wings of wreathed in divine fire before fading. Sophia knew what that display meant. Makoto was on the verge of Ascension. But, one thing confused her. Makoto was the Morningstar's Avatar - one of twelve. There should not even be a trace of holy power, but here, she had seen otherwise.

**X X X X X X**

_**Over the South China Sea, Angelic Fortress Ragnarok, 20th September 1999, at the same moment**_

The spires and battlements of the fortress-monastery of the Steel Angel Court, Ragnarok, had the very outlook of a space fortress out of a science fiction novel. Floating high over the waters of the South China Sea, Ragnarok was larger than any of the strongholds of the Eternal Guard Courts and possessed the mobility that allowed the Court to take the fight to its enemies. Constructed during the First Age of Creation, the magnificent floating fortress had stood as a testament of God's Will on Earth.

Even during the bloodiest days of the War in Heaven, Ragnarok had never fallen once into enemy hands, and its walls were drenched in the blood of the Fallen hosts and their allies. Only when the Morningstar stepped in, did Ragnarok finally collapse, its walls sundered and its garrison slaughtered. But, even that victory had cost the Morningstar dearly in resources and time. The ensuring counterattack by Metatron and Sandalphon almost cost the treacherous Archangel and his battered army their lives.

Ragnarok served one other purpose outside of being a mobile fortress; it served as the meeting place in which the representatives of the Eternal Guard Courts and those of the Kingdom of Heaven would meet. But, for the first time, the fortress-monastery would see beings other than God's servants within its halls. It would see that all those who had sworn allegiance to the Creator during the War come.

Nakahito Kagura watched from his alcove, clad in his white, Japanese, _Onmyo_ priest robes, his blue eyes watching the representatives. Kurumi put down a tray holding his favourite drink before kissing her lover playfully, not liking the sombre look in his eyes. She loved it better when he smiled, when those blue eyes would be sparkling with life. But, even Kurumi, air-headed (as her compatriots accused her of being) as she often was, could not deny that the conclave being held below was important to the world her lover lived on.

A lurid curse made Nakahito and Kurumi turn to see the shorter, blonde-haired Karinka storm into the room. The youngest sister of the pink-haired Kurumi was beyond furious, and the air practically crackled with lightning. Saki, the second sister, entered a few seconds later, looking just as irritated. The composure Saki had was icy, and the angry glare could freeze a Pit Fiend in its tracks from a hundred paces.

"What's wrong?" Nakahito asked.

"What's wrong?" Karinka parroted, "What's wrong? Everything! All this! The withdrawal command from God! Vashishtael coming here! Dominic being a fascistic ass! What else can go wrong! I've been stopping fights between the retinues of the representatives and Dominic's servitors for the past three hours, and I'm close to losing my temper! If another fight breaks out, to Lucifer with propriety! I'll send them straight to Hades!"

"Now, now, Karinka-chan, calm down..." Kurumi ventured.

"Calm down? Kurumi-neesan, these idiots are talking about abandoning Earth! Earth! The place where Naka-chan lives! It's not right! The moment the Morningstar so much as crosses over, the human race is finished. The supernaturals here are way too divided to present a unified front!"

"Karinka..." Kurumi said, "Calm down."

The Russian girl immediately clamped up, seeing the fierce glow in her eldest sister's eyes. Kurumi angry was not a pretty sight. Only Diana could stop her when she got angry. Only when she looked at Nakahito did she realise why Kurumi had spoken to her in that fashion. That sad, sombre look. That look that spoke of abandonment and damnation, beneath which laid a warm heart that won the love of four angels, among which was the Seraph of the Steel Angels, Mikhail.

"Sorry."

"Kurumi, Karinka," Saki said, "I think it is time we started preparing for the worst. None of us in this room will leave Earth, and that means having to deal with the consequences. Our Father in Heaven will punish us severely for our disobedience, but I think that that is a far more acceptable..."

"Saki!" Nakahito scowled.

The dark-haired, business-suited angel smiled sadly, "None of us want to leave you to fight your battles alone, Naka-chan. We know you better than you know yourself. And believe me, you **_are_** worth it."

"But-"

"You cannot defeat Abyss on your own."

Nakahito fell silent, before speaking, "But wouldn't a demon of her power only be able to cross over when Lucifer breaks through the barrier between worlds?"

"True - at one point in time."

"What!"

"What Saki-neesan was trying to say," Karinka said, "is that several high-ranking Fallen have _already_ crossed over. Our contacts confirm that a Baroness and her immediate retinue were seen in New York just days prior to the earthquake. And that earthquake was caused by a vampire Ancient awakening from torpor."

"Was it Tzimirion?" Nakahito asked, referring to the Clan Founder of the Shapers.

"Yes. But, that is not all. They" Karinka said, referring to her contacts, "have also seen the servants of the Earthbound Fallen, Azazel, in the city, as well as those of two lesser Earthbound, Shagriel, the Fang of Oblivion, and Ga'fiel, the Vanquisher of Stars. I don't know for what reason the Prince of Temptation's Undying Echo is doing in New York but whatever it is, I don't like it. Three Earthbound in the same place is the perfect recipe for a war, but those three are not fighting. They're there looking for something, but what is it?"

"Lucifer's Avatars," Saki said, "The only reason that I can think of is that Azazel has allied himself with Shagriel and Ga'fiel is towards the end of claiming the Morningstar's throne for himself. Our Fallen Prince needs a viable host, and in an attempt to thwart our efforts, made 12. The question is, which host will he incarnate himself in. Even he does not know. If he incarnates in one in the hands of those not loyal to him, he's done for."

Nakahito looked perplexed, "Come again?"

"Long story short," Karinka stepped in, "The Morningstar will be at his weakest when he incarnates in his host. He will be unable to use any of his powers and Disciplines for twenty-four hours. And as Saki said, if Satan incarnates in an Avatar in the hands of those not loyal to him, there will be a new ruler in Hell. If not, Earth will be a nightmare made real."

A knock on the door made everyone look up. A golden-haired female angel dressed in a long-cut top, loose trousers and high boots strode in. An ornate sword hung around her slender hips. Kurumi charged over and glomped the other angel, squealing, "Lujia-chan!"

"Oy! Kurumi, leggo' of me!" the other angel protested.

"It's been a while, Lujia-chan! Where have you been?" Kurumi giggled, "You rarely come by our place for a long time now!"

"Please! With Lady Mikhail, you and your sisters in the same place, I have no wish to behold the orgy that takes place daily! I'm surprised that the Kagura temple has yet to see Nakahito-kun's offspring running around wrecking the place!" Lujia deadpanned, inwardly enjoying the flush that had suffused the young priest's face. That flush soon reminded her of the half-breed child of the Archduchess of the Crimson Legion, Andariel, and her lips curved in an angry snarl as the memory of their first encounter returned. The ensuing struggle had caused the slums of Rio de Janeiro in Brazil to go up in flames.

She had gotten word from her informants that Adam's half-breed bastard was in America, and she had been preparing to go there to finish him off when her commander ordered her to return to Ragnarok. A golden opportunity to cleanse this tainted filth from the face of Creation...wasted!

"Lujia, what's wrong?" Kurumi asked.

"Huh...? Sorry. Zoned out for a minute there," Lujia grinned, sticking out her tongue. When she opened her eyes, she saw Nakahito looking at her, a mournful wisdom in his blue eyes that told the golden-maned angel that the former had seen through her act. Damn that boy's perception! Damn that pitying gaze! She was a servant of God! She had fought against the soldiers and servants of the Morningstar since her Creation, and prevailed against each and every one.

Nakahito stood up, "I'm going to see Mikhail, Kurumi. Can you and your sisters get what you need from Heaven and then meet me back at the temple?"

"Okie, Naka-chan. Anything we can get you?"

"The food, perhaps?"

Karinka and Saki could not help but giggle. No matter how much Nakahito ate, his body retained its lean, powerful build. Kurumi laughed, "Done, Naka-chan."

"Also, can I have a private word with Lujia?"

"Eeh? But -"

"Okay, Naka-chan," Karinka said, grabbing one arm, while Saki grabbed another. Kurumi protested against her forced eviction, before Karinka bopped her hard on her head, "Kurumi, stop being such an air-head!"

Nakahito chuckled briefly before he turned his attention on Lujia. When he did, his eyes were filled with sorrow.

"Gentle, sweet, Lujia, thou art the hand that bears the sword, Angel Tears, even as its namesake bleeds from a heart that mourns the passing of those you cannot protect. You count him amongst their number, for you believe he cannot overcome that which Fate has placed upon him. And so, you give him the only mercy you believe him worthy of: death."

"And why not?" Lujia raged, her blue eyes crackling with golden flames. This...this...arrogant, **_mortal_** upstart! She collared him immediately, pulling him close so that their faces were but inches from each other. A voice at the back of Lujia's mind thanked God that Nakahito Kagura had sent Kurumi and her sisters from the room; had they been in the room, they would have blasted her into the planet's stratosphere.

"Do you have any **_idea_** how many people have died or are suffering because of him? Do you? Huh?" Lujia snarled, shaking the younger priest violently, "I will not rest until I have avenged all those innocents that have died or been defiled because of him! Many of my friends are dead because of him!"

"What you have in your heart is not justice, Rain of Moonsilver," Nakahito said, addressing Lujia by her title, "But vengeance."

The tension in the room became thick enough to cut.

"Shut up, Kagura," the blonde angel hissed, before she flung him into the nearby sofa with effortless ease, "I will stop him, regardless. You cannot stop me. You don't have the authority."

"Oh, but I do, Rain of Moonsilver," Nakahito said, his voice edged in steel, "But I am not going to use it to stop you. I see no point in doing so. You - not God - will have to decide if the fate you level on Andariel's son is just."

"It **_is,_**" Lujia snarled as she stormed from the room, effectively ending the conversation.

Nakahito sighed sadly, "Heaven has changed, hasn't it, Mikhail?"

The air shimmered as the silver-maned Seraph of the Steel Angel Court materialised beside him, her disappointed silence answer enough to his question. The way her hands gripped her elbows was proof enough that it was all Mikhail could do not to punish her lieutenant.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, Mikhail? Because if you do this, there is no turning back - for you or for anyone that chooses to follow you," Nakahito asked as he stood up.

"I am sure, Naka-kun," Mikhail replied, wrapping slender but impossibly strong arms around her lover, "And, though foolish it may be, I have faith in the decisions I have made. I will stay. After all," a playful smile curving her perfect, ruby lips, "I won't let Kurumi and her sisters have you all to themselves..."

Nakahito had to rush to grab a napkin to prevent his nosebleed from staining his robes.

_**To be continued...**_


	9. The Eye of Iblis, Part 3

_**Chapter 5, Part 3 : The Eye of Iblis**_

_**Kyoto City, Japan, 21st September 1999, Tuesday, 2030 hrs**_

The Springtime Flower shop. It was here, in the oldest section of the city, that his father had bought his mother flowers, despite the fact that the latter absolutely detested them. It was compounded by the fact that the selection he made would all have brought about his mother's wrath crashing down on his father's head. His father had given his mother a lily, of all things - the one flower that no one who wanted to win a girl's affections would give.

At first, his mother had thought the gesture to be an insult from her sister's employee. Kusakabe Shihana and her friends had been prepared to beat his father within an inch of his life, but the words soon had the first blushing and the second left paralysed in awe.

_'That is the only flower that suits you,' _his father had said, _'To give you anything else would **be** an insult. Unless, of course, you're saying that you prefer them on your grave than in your hands...'_

Those words brought about a rivalry that became something more. Their childishness had his aunt screaming bloody murder at both of them on more than one occasion for their devil-may-care races in the mountains. Makoto chuckled. His aunt had mellowed over the years, but he could almost imagine the demonic look on his aunt's face as she went postal on his parents. He could not help but tremble. The owner of the Springtime Flower shop, Hojo Katsura, an old World War 2 veteran and a survivor of the battle of Iwo Jima, had once told Makoto that he had once seen his aunt angry - and had no wish to see her angry a second time. Not even his commanding officer during the war had been **_that_** fierce - and none could inspire that level of terror.

But, Makoto could not help but be awed at how beautiful his aunt was when she was angry. There was nothing there but sheer defiance and pride. She was a living, breathing character out of his father's Circle of the Fallen novels. He cannot help but wonder if the seductive Infernal Exalted of the Swamp Clan in the novels, Uranus Poisonblade, was modelled after his aunt.

_'Including the measurements,'_ his mind whispered, smiling treacherously. Makoto reddened. He was developing a real perverted side lately. If his aunt knew she was part of the dreams he had been having lately, there was no doubt as to what would happen to him. The lilies he had purchased for his parents' grave would soon grace his and the tombstone would bear the most insulting eulogy in the history of humanity. He knew his aunt was more than capable of carrying through with whatever threat she promised - imagined or otherwise!

He didn't want to meet his parents in the afterlife and explain to them that his aunt was the one who killed him just because he had a wet dream about her. The teasing would last beyond Doomsday. The soft chime of the shop's clock told Makoto that he had better step on it. If he had brought his laptop with him, he could settle down in the nearest fast food restaurant and get started on the next chapter of his pet project.

Makoto shrugged and strode to the counter, and was prepared to ring the bell to inform the old florist that he was ready to make the purchase when a familiar scent stopped him. He remembered this scent. But where...? Wait, yes, that was it. His mother had often used it when she took him and his father to the fairs. It smelt of pine, and roses in the rain. His heart quaked at the memory, and when the woman stepped into the shop, he had to fight down the urge to call her mother.

Few women now used such traditional body and hair-oils, and it did not surprise him that the woman before him did. Dressed conservatively in her gi and hakama, Katsuragi Tsubaki's single, silver eye met Makoto's blue-grey ones. This was the first time since her arrival in Kyoto that Makoto was this close to the silver-haired teacher, and suffice to say, he didn't like it. The way Tsubaki-sensei looked at him made him feel as if she knew everything that he kept sequestered in his heart.

To his surprise, the penetrating gaze softened as she caught sight of the flowers in his arms, and a smile curved her lips, "Flowers for your girlfriend, Kusakabe-san?"

"Eh?" Not the question he expected coming from the stern swordswoman, "Uh...not quite. They're for my parents."

"Your parents?" Tsubaki asked, feigning ignorance, "Oh, I see. My condolences, Kusakabe-san. How long has it been?"

"Almost eleven years now," Makoto replied, turning to look at the freshly-cut roses that the old florist had put into the pail only minutes before, the crimson colour of its petals reminding him all too vividly of blood. The sweet scent that wafted to his nose held the faint, copperish scent of spilt blood, and the image of his father, holding him to his chest as he emerged from the blazing wreck of the car, before toppling, still holding him close. Makoto remembered the pain of his broken arm, and how hard it had been to breathe. He remembered how bright the moon was,the shooting star that streaked above it, like the eye of a watching god and how beautiful the stars were. He remembered his father's voice, saying something...

...but what was it? He could not remember. But, what he could remember clearly was the feeling of loneliness and sorrow when his father's strong grip slackened, and his voice screaming out for his parents before the darkness came.

Makoto turned away swiftly, and rang the bell to inform the old owner of the shop that he was ready to make his purchase. The old florist emerged from the back room immediately, and his eyes widened when he saw the silver-haired woman behind him.

"Welcome to my shop, _ojou-san_. I'll tend to you in a minute after I deal with the young pup," the old florist said, bowing in respect before turning his full attention on his younger customer, "For those troublemaking parents of yours, eh?"

Makoto could not help but smile at the older man's gruff question, "_Hai_. Do you want me to leave them anything?"

The old man brought out a box of incense from his one of his overall's pockets, "Went back to get you this. Your father loved burning this, by the way, after he finished...having fun with your mother. I have extra...should you want to take your girlfriend out for a tryst or two..."

Makoto turned red, "Hojo-san!"

The older man laughed, and the censorious look the silver-haired woman behind him was giving him made him laugh even harder. The community who worked and lived this side of the city remembered Makoto's _gaijin_ father well. Reiha Shigami had been a regular patron of the Black Crane bar and grill several blocks down, and had been the favourite of its manager and his employees back then. The place had also been the favourite stomping grounds of the Celestial Dragons biker gang led by Kusakabe Shihana, Makoto's mother and the outcast daughter of the influential Mikage family.

One of the Celestial Dragon biker girls, Ryubi Mika, was married to the son of the Black Crane's manager, and always had a spare table and a free meal for the son of her ex-leader. Mika, now 34, with children of her own, had never stopped lamenting about the fact that her leader had cheated abominably in the race to win the _gaijin's_ heart.

Hojo looked past the entrance of his shop, noting the police officers that cycled past on their daily patrols. How the neighbourhood had changed ever since the gangs operating there had been put out of business. Many of the residents who lived here believed that it was due to a heavier police presence, but there were those - particularly amongst the ex-gang members who worked in they once terroristed - who whispered of a vengeful ghost who had crushed them one after the other. The recent Kiyamachi killings had put the fear of Kami-sama back in those ex-gang members who had survived the Purge.

They believed that the Bloody Angel had returned to finish whatever it had started all those years ago. The name had been coined by a gangster who had managed to catch a glimpse of the thing that had butchered his friends. But, demon, angel or spirit, it had been a godsend to the beleaguered residents of the district. Hojo clearly remembered the days when the gangs and the traids controlled the district. Gang fights, prostitution and illegal bars had been commonplace before the Purge began.

In the beginning, the old florist had taught it a lone vigilante who had a bone to pick with the triads, the fool. But, soon, he started to see a pattern; the attacks, he deduced, had been meant to ignite hostilities between the gangs. It worked. The gangs were soon at each other's throats and the killings continued unabated, even intensifying, as the mysterious stalker soon started targeting the gangs' and triads' leadership in a brutal witch-hunt.

The event that made the already bloody Purge bloodier had been when the Red Lotus triad, the most powerful triad in the city, kidnapped Shihana and several of her friends to be sold overseas. That got Makoto's father angry, and he got involved despite his employer's (who was also the younger sister of Shihana) and the parents of the kidnapped girls to report the incident to the police. Hojo told them that by the time the police acted, it would already be too late. Reiha promised he would bring them back safe, but that the price of his assistance was their silence. Their desperation to see their loved ones safe saw to their swift assent.

Within five days of that promise, a spate of bombings, assassinations and murders that bordered on terrorism saw to the entire organisation annihilated. The police found their work being done for them. Arrest warrants were rendered null and void on dozens of suspects because each and every one of them ended up in the morgue. An anonymous tip-off soon had the police storming the _Hanabi Maru_, a ship owned by a front company affiliated to the Red Lotus. On it, they found not only the kidnapped girls, but also illegal contraband such as guns and drugs in its manifesto, all bound for the cartels of South America.

That, and what had happened to the crew. The police teams had come ready for a fight. Hojo did not know what they found there, but the fact that the teams that had been involved in the storming of the ship swarming the city's bars and nightclubs told him that they had seen Hell. Hojo had interrogated Reiha, but all the _gaijin_ said was that he directed the wolves to the hunting ground. The cold gleam in his eyes warned the old florist not to ask any further before he became one of the sheep.

The survivor of the Red Lotus, he soon heard on the news, was its leader, who was now nothing more than a broken, mewling wreck whose sanity was all but blasted out the window. Regardless of how Makoto's father did it, he had done society a service. It may not been in his place to judge the gangsters, but he had done what any other man would have done if their loved ones were in danger.

"Hojo-san?"

"Eh? Sorry, Kusakabe-kun. Just thinking about old times. Heh..." and he noticed a white roce amidst the lilies, "And that must be for your tigress of an aunt. Trying to bribe her before she chops your head off?"

Makoto rolled his eyes, "If I don't, I'd find the manner of my death all the more painful. Appeasement is an option preferable to execution."

Hojo burst out laughing, and the way the silver-haired woman's shoulders were shaking told the old florist that she, too, was trying her best not to erupt in laughter. Makoto scowled, thanking Hojo for embarrassing him in front of his sensei, before proceeding to pay for the flowers. As he left the shop, he was unaware of two blue eyes watching him from the window of a nearby coffee-house.

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City, Ruida's Books and Internet Cafe, Tuesday night, 21st September 1999, 2045 hrs**_

Ruida's shop was located several blocks from the Kyoto train station that linked the city to the rest of Japan, her Charms in the vicinity ensuring that any supernatural creature or their lackeys would catch her off-guard. Which was why, at this point in time, the exiled Reaper was swearing inwardly as her golden eyes blazed at the sight of the intruder. Winds colder than Cocytus's breath spiralled around Ankusha, promising that should the latter not have an explanation as to why she was here uninvited, she would pay dearly.

The intruder raised both hands, palm outwards, indicating that she was not here to start a quarrel.

"How did you get past my wards, Lilith?" Ruida snarled, her hands tightening around the haft of her war-scythe, the long, dagger-ended chain slashing angrily in tandem with her emotions, "It should be impossible for a demon of your stature to enter my territory without tripping over one of my wards."

The female devil chuckled, "It wasn't easy, I assure you, to circumvent a high-level Charm that covered twelve blocks. Such caution is commendable, if not bordering on overkill."

"Clearly, it was not good enough to keep **_you_** out of my territory," Ruida fired back, "Leave now, Lilith. I do not wish to speak to you."

Lilith's crimson eyes narrowed, and she stood up from behind the table in which she had sat behind, "I don't even want to be here when I have better things to do with my time, Harafel. But, this is important, and I think it is best that you know what is about to happen before it is too late. Wait, hear me out, and then I'll leave. My brother has informed me, through his contacts, that the lapdogs of our Creator," spitting out the word, "have declared a blood-hunt on all the Avatars chosen to be our Prince's vessel."

"A blood-hunt?" Ruida's face went pale, "They would go this far?"

"They **_are_**," Lilith replied, emphasising the second word, "now scouring the globe for them. With the Oracles of Delphi and the Seer Council aiding them, it would take them less than a month to thwart our Prince's plans."

"Lucifer is not my Prince, Lilith," Ruida said.

"It does not matter, Harafel. You turned your back on God, like I have."

"But, that does not make me a Fallen."

"You have loved a mortal and have lain with him many times. You may not have birthed or sired any of the Nephilim, but your act of copulating with one of Adam's sons is no less an act of treachery as when Lucifer and my brethren raised up arms against God. _'Thou shalt not mix thy divine blood with those of Adam's get, for such a union of that which is eternal and transient shall bring thee only sorrow.'_, remember? Our Father who art in Heaven did not say it, but the underlying warning was more than enough. Screw a mortal, and you Fall. Bear that mortal's child, and you, your lover, and your children are finished. You and those like you are an exception in the fact that your punishments were deferred."

Ruida could not answer. She knew all too well the edicts of Heaven; she had chosen willingly to disobey and was willing to bear the consequences of her actions. It's just that Heaven had chosen to punish Darien in order to punish her was cruel beyond description. He never did anything wrong. And to this day, she remembered the strangled cry of his soul as the flaming swords of the Malhim sent him to Final Death for violating one of God's daughters. She had wanted to tell them that he didn't seduce her; she was the one that initiated the relationship.

"You were lucky that you left after the final battle at Genhinnom when you did. Did you know what they did to those who had done as you had?" Lilith continued, her eyes narrowing, "Yes, you know. You heard their screams and felt their pain as Oblivion took them. Final Death - that is the mercy offered by our Creator to his creations. The act of disposing of toys He no longer has any use for."

"God is not that cruel. He must have had a reason to..."

"A reason?" Lilith cut in, amusement in her tone, "A reason? When does He ever need one? Stop defending Him, Harafel. Stop defending the atrocities that He has commanded done in His name. There is no greater lie than to mask evil with the visage of good. Did you remember Tishael, the one who gave your Darien the coup de grace? Shall I tell you a little secret, hmm?"

Lilith stepped within range of Ruida's weapon, and bent foward, smiling, "She was also in love with your precious Darien. Did you know that?"

Ruida did not flinch. Neither did Lilith when Ankusha's dagger-ended chain hovered an inch from her face.

"You lie."

"Am I? You are right not to trust me, as I may be lying," Lilith said, "But it does not change the fact that Makoto is in danger. I have no wish for him to share the fate of your dead lover, and with the way you're acting right now, the servants of the Tyrant God will succeed in their mission in seeing him dead."

"I will not let it happen, nor will I let what you are planning ever come to pass."

"Spoken like a true warrior of Heaven," Lilith said as she leapt backwards, landing lightly on the open balcony, "But whether you can stop what is about to happen remains to be seen. If you defy them, they will destroy you. If you do not obey God's edicts, they will destroy you. If you stand alone, they will destroy you. Your position is untenable, Harafel."

The female devil drew a small brass cylinder from her trench-coat, and threw it onto the chair she sat on previously, "I leave you this, as a gesture of good-will. I suggest you consider it seriously because if you do not...Makoto may well end up like your beloved Darien."

Before Ruida could answer, the beautiful devil had already dissolved into the mist and was carried away on the night wind. The Death Angel picked up the cylinder her Fallen counterpart had left her and looked at the sigil that was engraved on it: a crimson, ornate, inverted cross with a six-winged serpent twined around it.

Her free hand tightened around it as tears fell to the floor.

"Darien..."

_**X X X X X X**_

_**At that same moment, inside the Hoshino Mall...**_

Tokiya, Kasumi and several of their classmates stared at the large viewscreen in Hoshino Mall, as news from one side of the world was transmitted to those who lived on the other side. The news report a day ago had shown but a fraction of the devastation, but now, it showed the full extent of it. Entire city blocks were either in flames, or had totally collapsed from the force of the earthquake. The city's emergency services were out in full force trying to contain the aftermath of the disaster, and it was clear, from what the reporter was saying, that the odds were against them. They were stretched to near-breaking point, and it was difficult for its Emergency Response Central to handle a disaster of this magnitude.

And, from what the American geological experts had said, there was another, more massive, earthquake on the way. When it would hit, no one knew, and it had convinced many residents of the city to obey ths mayor's order to leave the city. But, clearly, just as many refused to leave. The breakdown of social order was widespread in many parts of the city, and the camera from the media helicopter zoomed down to where riot police forcefully suppressed looters with tear gas and water cannons.

Then...several gunshots rang out.

A world stood paralysed as several police officers fell to the broken ground.

And all hell broke loose.

_**X X X X X X**_

**_Angelic Fortress Ragnarok, off Long Island, USA, 21st September 1999, Tuesday morning, 0640 hrs_**

Mikhail, Dominion of the Steel Angel Court, looked about the majestic Council Chambers in the heart of Ragnarok. Hours ago, it had held a convocation that would decide the stance of the Eternal Guard courts ever since God had commanded all of His sons and daughters to return to the fastness of Heaven in preparation for the Morningstar's assault.

And hours ago, it would see to a historic, second splintering amongst the loyalist servants of the Almighty. And, as so many had predicted, God proceeded to withdraw His blessings from them, leaving them a pale shadow of their former glory. Charms they could once have used with ease once before now became considerably more difficult to cast. Their Disciplines, thankfully, were unhindered, and that in itself was a blessing.

"Mika-chan?"

The silver-maned Dominion turned to see her pink-haired sister skipping in merrily. Just like Kurumi to not care that God had cast her down. As long as she had Nakahito by her side, and as long as he was happy, nothing else mattered. Mikhail could not help but be envious of her sister's mind-set.

"Ah, Kurumi. Is Nakahito asleep?"

"Yup. We...exhausted him, after all," Kurumi giggled, "You look tired, also, Mika-chan. Why don't you return to the room?"

Mikhail chuckled, pulling her scanty nightrobe tighter about her lush form, "I can't think clearly when I'm in his arms, Kurumi. And right now, I need to think clearly."

"You worry too much, Mika-chan. Are you regretting it?"

Mikhail considered the question, before finally shaking her head, her blue eyes falling upon the symbol of the cross crowned by a sunburst, "Did God rescind the order He gave long ago?"

It was Kurumi's turn to shake her head.

"And therein, is the reason why those who remain, chose to remain."

Footsteps soon alerted the two young women to the arrival of another. It was Vincent of the Steel Rain.

"Commander, we've just got info from our contacts from New York that the Fallen Courts have chosen to act. The Earthbound have moved against them, and open fighting has erupted across several parts of the world."

"What!"

"That's not all," said the bespectacled angel, "I've got it from reliable sources that Heaven has sent out kill-teams to search for the Avatars with orders to kill them on sight. They intend to use the Church to aid them in their hunt."

Before Mikhail could say anything, the entire sky fortress suddenly shook violently, causing all three angels to lose their balance. Vincent, the first to recover, shouted into his comm-link, "Command, what in God's name was that?"

The response, heard by all of them, was chilling in the extreme, "God's name is right! We're having Malhim on top of us! There's a whole Host of them out there!"

"WHAT!" Mikhail shrieked, "What do you..." and fell silent as the puzzle pieces in her mind fell into place. Damn it! Damn that fascistic pig! He had been waiting for the opportunity and he finally had all the reason he needed to crush the newly-Fallen angels who had chosen to disobey God's Command. The fact that he had brought in the Malhim meant that he was not intent on taking back prisoners to face the Celestial Inquisition. How just like him!

Mikhail soared over to the nearest communications console and hailed the Command Centre of Ragnarok, "Duria, are the defensive systems on-line?"

"Not a moment too soon, my lady. Our brothers and sisters abroad are now taking up arms and are repelling the enemy. The _Fusetsu-Kekkai _kicked in the moment they came within Ragnarok's outer-sensor boundaries, and the defenses an instant later when our IFF-Charms identified their intentions as hostile."

"Damages?"

"None so far, but the Ragnarok's shield Charms and Wards took quite a beating from the initial barrage. And...wait a minute...what's **_she _**doing here!" Duria paled.

"Duria...what's wrong?"

"L-Lady Mikhail...it's Brunhilde! One of the Twelve Valkyries is here!"

Mikhail's lips tightened, and she shifted into her battle-harness before storming to the main courtyard where her brother and sister angels, along with dozens of mystics, Blood- and Oath-sworn mortals stood ready to cross swords against the swiftly approaching angelic army. Nakahito was there as well, standing next to Kurumi and her sisters, a look of sorrow on his face as the sick realisation of what was about to happen sank in.

As the sun crested over the horizon and lit the skies, the battle between the loyalists of Heaven who chose to obey God's command and its loyalist renegades who remained faithful to a command that had yet to be withdrawn began in earnest.

_**X X X X X X**_

_**New York, America, Bernstein Motel, 21st September 1999, Tuesday morning, 0730 hrs**_

The young, dark-haired man woke in a soft bed, his body tingling with the familiar ache of heavy injuries and an unidentifiable, sensuous warmth that flowed through his veins. His body was swathed in bandages, and he winced as he moved. Where was he? How did he get here? And what in God's holy name did he fight against to end up as badly injured as he was now? All things considered, he should be in a hospital's ICU, and not in a hotel room with a naked girl sleeping next to him.

Wait a minute.

Back it up...

Naked girl?

The young man looked under the blanket. He was naked as well.

Oh no...not again! Did he...?

Oh Hell...

A thousand swear-words, most of them in a long-dead language (but which were more suitable for the situation at hand) erupted from his lips when he saw who exactly the girl was sleeping next to him. This would explain the sensuous warmth he was feeling nearly overloading his senses!

Oh, if Bennu saw this, he was never going to live it down. The girl, sensing that her lover had woken up, started to rouse from her slumber as well. Brown hair, loosened from their twin ponytails, cascaded down to her lower back. The body of the girl was lush and athlethic at the same time. He knew her.

"Lucia?" he rasped.

"Good morning, Sheik," the girl smiled, stretching, allowing her lover a full view of her full, G-cup breasts and the firm musculature of her lean frame, "I take it you slept well?"

Knowing better than to be embarrassed by what had transpired (and giving the girl ammunition in which to tease him mercilessly), Sheik opted to nod, "Who took care of my injuries?"

"Faia. She barely got back to her room after you were through with her. Good God, Sheik...you're unbelievable when you go all-out. I wonder why you haven't gotten married and had a whole room of kids yet," Lucia grinned playfully as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, "You not only got me and Faia to fly; you got us staining the bedsheets."

Sheik reddened, and quickly changed the subject, "And she had to cut my hair?"

Lucia raised one eyebrow in amusement, "It got in the way of when Faia was turning you into a mummy. You were lucky, though," and the amusement left her eyes, "You lost a lot of blood and had enough injuries to send a werewolf straight to the morgue. I know you well enough that it takes a lot to piss you off, and I've seen you angry. But this is one of the few times I've seen you go postal. Remind me never to get on your bad side. You have your mom's temper."

Sheik stared at Lucia in confusion. What happened two days ago anyway? His memory was foggy and indistinct. All he remembered was getting very, very scared when the earthquake hit...and then black and silver-maned werewolves lunging at him from the alley, driving him down in a series of fierce body tackles that saw them crashing through a van and through an apartment store.

One of them was...who was it? A female werewolf with a crimson mane...he knew her, but what was her name?

"You don't remember?" Lucia asked as she gathered the blankets about her.

"No, sorry. My mind's a mess."

"Not surprising. You went berserk in Times Square and shifted to your Divine Aspect in full view of an adoring public before proceeding to fight against two whole packs of Black Whirlwind were-beasts."

"I breached Masquerade...?" Sheik squeaked.

Lucia burst out laughing at the horrified look on her companion's face, "Yup, before proceeding to go Nanaya on Wolf Queen and her bodyguards. Your mother must really be desperate to get you back before her enemies got to you and she's throwing everything but the kitchen sink. When Nial and the rest of us reached Times Square - Natashia guided us there, by the way - the entire place had become a supernatural Royal Rumble. Fallen loyal to your mother and to her enemies had gotten involved."

"How many of our friends are injured, Lucia?"

"A good number," the brown-haired girl replied somberly, "Some of them when they tried to bring you down."

The blood drained from Sheik's face, "Who did I...?"

Lucia told him.

"That many...? Even him?"

"Uh-huh. Had we not gotten some help from an unexpected quarter, you would have cleaned out the Square of every living thing. I'll introduce you to those two later. By the way, have you heard of a demon called the Hornless One?"

Sheik's eyes widened. By God's Throne...the Hornless One? That name was infamous in Hell and synonymous with a faction that had murdered one of Lucifer's daughters in an attempt to break the geasa that bound all the Fallen and their daemonic servants to the Morningstar's will.

"I take it that you know. He was helped by a red-haired German beauty. She's a Jewel Witch. Bennu clearly knew her, and they spoke for quite some time before she departed with the Silent Throne Exorcists. Those two are here on guard duty. The Hornless One wants to talk to you when you're back on your feet."

"That will have to wait, in any case," spoke another voice as the silver-haired, amber-eyed Faia as she entered the room, carrying in her arms a tray of food and a first-aid kit, "You're still pretty badly injured. You need a session...maybe two...before you have enough energy to seal up those wounds of yours. But, how is he so far, Lucia?"

"He's doing okay, as far as I can tell," the green-eyed girl replied merrily, "He took quite a bit out of me, but that's nothing a few hours of sleep and a good meal wouldn't solve."

Faia chuckled. Lucia had always been a tough girl despite her mischievous exterior. Next to her and Natashia, it was she who spent the most time replenishing Sheik's mana reserve when it hit dangerous levels. The only way that he could do so was through sexual intercourse, where he used his lover's soul as a channel in which to draw the divine blessing that God had granted his most favoured creation. When Bennu hid him in Singapore for the past year, he had accumulated an astronomical amount of power - which he promptly used up as he attempted to demolish an entire section of the metropolis (as well as friend and foe) in a berserk fury.

"Where am I, anyway?"

"You're at the Bernstein Motel, a building owned by someone who owes Cardinal Wesley a big favour. We managed to set up camp here after the earthquake. You drifted in and out of consciousness for two days now, but it seemed that your...hunger and your capabilities...only increased. Like father, like son..."

Lucia giggled, but a prompt glare sent her scurrying into the bathroom.

"Stop making me look like a pervert, Faia," Sheik scowled. He hated it when the girls in the Seraph coterie made jokes at his expense.

"You are!" Faia stuck out her tongue playfully, before her eyes became sad, "You scared us, you know. The way you were, it was as if you were someone else. The Silent Throne Exorcists had to use their most powerful barrier wards to chain you down, and they barely held. Did Lucia tell you about..."

"The Hornless One and his Jewel Witch companion? Yes, she did."

"Had they not stepped in, we would have been in serious trouble. You were ready - and probably more that capable - of demolishing an entire segment of New York, along with every living thing within a 10-block radius."

"I find **_that_** hard to believe. Right now, what surprises me more than that possibility is the fact that the Title-Divested One and the Jewel Witch that accompanied that nun and that Apostle seventy years ago during the Usurpation are still alive."

"Am I missing something here?" Lucia asked, "What happened seventy years ago, anyway?"

"He can tell you later, Lucia. Go bathe, get dressed and go eat - you've had a long night. And you, Sheik, Iet me see your injuries," Faia said.

The Nephilim obeyed without protest. Lucia, who took a folded towel from the nearby shelf to cover her naked body, gave him a once-over as Faia removed the bandages, revealing the horrific scars that had been fatal wounds the night before, and whistled. Sheik soon got a firsthand look at wounds that would have put half-a-dozen werewolves out of commission. He was stunned by the fact he was still alive.

Scabbed-over lacerations from talons criss-crossed his body, and there were a multitude of injuries caused by various close-combat weapons. The worst injury was a mass of ruptured flesh and tissue caused by a Divine Cross sword technique, and stretched from his right shoulder down to his left hip.

"Somebody really pulled a _Battousai_ on me," Sheik grimaced as he traced the injury, "Was it one of my mother's Fallen servants, or one of her enemy's?"

"That was the Hornless One's doing," Faia replied as she drew a new roll of bandages from the first-aid kit before proceeding to wrap Sheik's battered frame with it, "He managed to take you down, but you sent him crashing out the other end of a shopping mall."

A knock on the door alerted the two of them to a new arrival. The door opened to reveal a stately but curvaceous woman with shoulder-length blue hair. Sheik recognised her immediately. Natashia, the Unseeing Eye, a sorceress whose abilities was on par with the Warlocks from the Seraph Coterie. Despite her being blind, Natashia easily made her way to the bed, smiling warmly.

"How are you feeling, Sheik?" the wizardess asked.

"Not bad, considering I took apart two packs of veteran Black Whirlwind were-beasts," he replied, "Turned Times Square into a war-zone, and added to my very long list a hefty bill I don't want to go about paying. I swear if my mother saw it, she would disown me."

"No chance of that happening anytime soon. If I am any judge, I'd say you're still your mother's favourite," Faia said as she clipped the bandages in place, "There. Just another night of resting - and fun -," her eyes glittered, "and you'd be ready to get banged up again."

Sheik shook his head in exasperation, "Do you enjoy seeing me look like a train wreck?"

The answer, soon voiced by a towel-clad Lucia, soon had Sheik promising to make the girl's life a living hell. Natashia could not help but laugh at the image that took shape in the Nephilim's mind involving the girl being chained and tossed off Niagara Falls.

_'Yes, Sheik, if there is one thing that you share with your cousin, it's this.'_

She could almost see the heir to the title of the Bloody Angel laughing uproariously.

_'Take care of him for me...'_

**_Author's Note: _**Crimson Angel/Bloody Angel Shateiel, Makoto's father. That was the title he inherited when he slew Altimael, the former Bloody Angel, in combat. Just so you don't get lost.

_**X X X X X X**_

**_New York, America, The Church of Christ the Savior, 21st September 1999, Tuesday, 1345 hrs_**

The journey had taken hours, and Paladin Galford Eisenland and Rebecca Marshall were exhausted. The same could be said for their compatriots, who sat exhausted on the wooden pews while waiting for the local Inquisitorial chaplain to make his appearance. Several of their compatriots soon entered the Church.

"Well?" Eisenland asked, "What is the situation on the ground, Mark?"

"Bad does not even do it justice, Eisen," Mark replied, "The earthquake could not have happened at a worst time. The supernaturals are out in force, the streets are dangerous and becoming more so, and Vicky here has sensed that we have one very, very, **_very_** powerful monster who's on the verge of waking up. The Oracles were right on the money when they said it might be one of the Leeches' Clan Founders. Long story short, New York is Megiddo waiting to happen. If we're gonna find the Avatar, we'd better hope for some serious divine intervention, a lot of backup and enough time to kill him - or her - before that vampire Ancient I mentioned finally wakes up."

Eisenland pinched his eyes, "Vicky?"

The female Exorcist shook her head, "I agree with Mark. We're not fully prepared to undertake the mission the Inquisitor-General has tasked us with. We lack the manpower, we're exhausted and our supplies are low. If we enter enemy territory right now, I doubt we will ever leave it alive."

The grey-haired Paladin looked at the newspaper he had been reading prior to his subordinates' return from scouting the area. Splashed on the front page were the headlines:

**THE MYSTERIOUS MONSTER SEEN AMIDST THE DEVASTATION**

A well-built figure was kneeling over the wreckage of a school bus, clad in robes and ornate armour that Eisenland knew was used by many a high-ranking Fallen. But it was the weapon that the figure was holding that clued the veteran demon-hunter as to the identity of the 'monster'.

The memory of his friends dying in the flames as the Church was blasted down returned to Eisenland's mind with the clarity of a man who had lived through his worst nightmare. It had only been five years, and their screams were still fresh in his mind. Eisenland remembered his companions' desperation as they sought to prevent their prisoner's allies from rescuing her. One of his friends, now long-dead, had used his most prized artifact - a gift given to him by the Vatican years ago for a heroic deed - to call down an angel.

What happened next would scar Eisenland for the rest of his life.

He saw an angel die. He saw as a young man no older than twenty cut down the glorious celestial as if it were nothing more than a sapling.

And he would see the same figure in the papers that he saw then in the bright, divine flames of the angel's death: a robed, armoured figure with four black wings with flames licking from its feathers, and the same ornate, claw-like, crystal inlaid gauntlets that could rend blessed steel as though it were paper. Despite being older, despite the hair being longer, and despite the fact that the quality of the shot was not good, Eisenland knew that it was the same person.

At last, Eisenland smiled grimly, he had a chance to deliver retribution upon the enemies of God. And they were all here, in one city.

He did not see his compatriot, Paladin Rebecca Marshall, smile as well, albeit for a different reason, nor did he see the golden-haired woman play with a locket around her neck.

_**X X X X X X**_

And somewhere in the city, a golden-haired woman looked at the paper, and with an angry snarl, immolated it. She turned her blue eyes upon her eight compatriots, and one of them nodded in confirmation at the unasked question.

_**X X X X X X**_

_**Kyoto City, Kyoto High School canteen, Japan, 22nd September 1999, Wednesday, 1215 hrs**_

Lunch hour in school was Tokiya's favourite time of the day. It was during this time of the day when her schoolmates would let their hair down and talk about something other than schoolwork. While they would mostly talk about the latest fashions, movies, guys (or girls) or other mundane things, the conversations these past two days had revolved around the murder of Sahaka's friend in the very nightclub they had reserved for a private party. The arrest of Sahaka and his gang had sent the rumour mill of the local schools - and the neighbourhood - into a frenzy. There were no few people who believed that the Kiyamachi murders were the doing of Sahaka and his gang trying to make a reputation for themselves.

Tokiya did not like Sahaka or his lapdogs, period, but she knew full well that neither he nor his friends were capable of murder.

_'Isn't he...?" _a soft voice whispered in her mind. Well, maybe they were, but neither Sahaka nor his friends were bloodthirsty fiends who would reduce their enemies to sushi the way that Hisayashi Goro had been turned into. And none of them were crazy enough to copy the Kiyamachi Slayer's killing style: that would only get them the killer's attention and mark them as future victims And that was providing that the police did not get to them first.

She got word from Shinichi through the school chat network that Sahaka and his cronies would be released from police custody latter this evening as the police had nothing substantial to charge them with. The fact that they could have released him the day before told Tokiya that it was an under-the-belt shot at the Mikage family to rein in their troublesome scion or risk him being formally charged in court one day.

Tokiya sighed, and turned her thoughts to other matters. Being the vice class-rep was never easy. She knew that long before she took the post. But, when Lilith transferred in, life got a lot harder. Beautiful, intelligent and confident, Lilith was everything Tokiya was not. Where she had to use brute force to get her classmates to work together, a few cutting words and a hard look from Lilith caused even the class troublemakers to capitulate. Where she had to study hard in order to pass her tests and exams, Lilith breezed through them with enviable ease. Not only was Lilith excellent in her studies, the purple-haired _gaijin_ was also a first-rate athlete and an excellent kendoist who had won the admiration of her rivals in a single stroke.

But, if there was one thing that angered Tokiya was the fact that in all the years that she had spent trying to earn a place in Makoto's heart, it was an utter stranger that had won it in an instant. The mental image of the beautiful _gaijin_ kissing Makoto in full view of his classmates served only to incense her further. It didn't help matters that Sophia, Makoto's newest classmate, had entered the equation as well. Though not as direct as Lilith in staking her claim, it was clear that the blonde-haired girl was attracted to Makoto as well.

And, honestly, what was there not to be attracted to? Makoto had his weaknesses, but it did not change the fact that he was a good person. Tokiya looked out the window, the blueness of the sky causing bittersweet memories of a childhood long-gone to return. She remembered the way he had be been before his parents' death, his smile, his movements, the sparkle in his eyes - everything. There had been none of the pain that he now hid behind the warmth of his smile and the tenderness in his gaze.

_'Do I love him...?'_

Tokiya flushed as the question crossed her mind. Did she...? But before she could contemplate the question further, a hard slap on her back broke her out of her sombre thoughts and almost sent the brown-haired girl crashing into the floor. She scowled when she saw the person who had landed the blow. Standing behind her was Tomoe Hisako, her classmate and a friend of hers ever since Junior High. A merry, outgoing girl who was into the latest trends and fashions. Her long, brown hair was tied into two thick ponytails high on her head and her grey eyes were gleaming merrily as she watched her friend rub her sore back.

"And what was that for?" Tokiya growled.

"To wake you up, of course! What were you doing zoning out in the middle of the hallway, Toki-chan? Are you gonna stand there till lunch hour is over?"

Tokiya looked at her watch, and her eyes widened. It was already 12:25. She had been standing there for the past ten minutes! Standing there, with a lovesick look on her face! Kami-sama, there goes her reputation! And no thanks to Makoto! He was gonna pay when she saw him!

"What were you thinking about anyway?" Tomoe asked, "You looked very sad."

"Huh...? Was I?" Tokiya grinned, and started laughing, a clear sign to Tomoe that this conversation was over one way or the other. The latter sighed in exasperation, before asking the former if she had seen Makoto.

"Eh...? Why do you want to talk to him, Tomoe?" Tokiya asked, suspicion in her voice.

"It's not like I'm trying to get into his pants, Toki," Tomoe said, raising her hands as Tokiya raised one fist, "Hey, take it easy, Toki-chan. I was only kidding. Saori-sensei asked me to find him. She wants to talk to him."

"Whatever for?"

"Beats me, Toki. But, whatever she wants to see him for, I can bet a hundred yen that it's going to end badly for Makoto-kun."

Tokiya was smart enough not to take up the bet, but agreed wordlessly that whenever Saori-sensei and Makoto were in the same room, the latter always ended up rushing out as if all of Hell was after him. Tokiya asked if Tomoe had asked Makoto's cousins. The latter replied that she had, and had asked Sophia, who had proceeded to tell her that Makoto had come into class late. When Tomoe told Tokiya exactly what time he had come in - and whose lesson he had interrupted by doing so - the pieces fell into place. But, it was Makoto's reaction to Saori-sensei's that surprised Tokiya. The first had not even batted an eyelid when the second announced that he would be doing latrine duty for the entire week.

"He must really be out of it," Tokiya said.

"That was exactly what Sophia-san said," Tomoe added, "She also advised we leave him alone for now. _Ne_, Toki-chan, you know Makoto best. What exactly can set him off like this?"

Tokiya did not reply. Some things were best left unspoken. Tomoe, seeing the expression on her friend's face, nodded understanding before finally saying that she had best be the person to tell Makoto that the teacher wanted to see him. Anyone else would end up in the infirmary.

_'Oh, thank you for sending me to my death, Tomoe!' _her glare screamed.

**X X X X X X**

It took Tokiya 15 minutes before she found Makoto. He was on the roof, alone, and his body language alone told the brown-haired girl that he wanted to remain thus. A part of her told her that it was a better idea to leave him alone, as Sophia had suggested, but it...hurt to see him like this. Her decision made, she pushed the door open and stepped onto the roof.

Makoto turned when he heard the door open, and Tokiya saw the desolate expression on his face that he did not have time to mask. He had been crying...

"Makoto-chan? What's wrong" Tokiya felt her voice shake, "Why...?"

That was when the young man started to tremble, and Tokiya rushed over and caught him as the dam broke yet again. Makoto gripped Tokiya's blouse tightly, and the latter winced at the iron grip in which the former held her as they sank to the ground. The broken sobs that rose from his throat bled from a wound that would never heal.

"Oy...Makoto, please...stop..."

But he didn't.

And it was all Tokiya could do to not to panic. She had seen him like this before, and it frightened her. But...this time, she didn't run. She couldn't. Not when he needed her the most. Tokiya wrapped her arms around him. She whispered words of comfort into Makoto's ear, stroking his head in the same fashion that he had seen Ruri do whenever they were together.

Class, for her, will have to wait.

**X X X X X X**

Standing in the shadow of the stairwell, Lilith watched the scene unfold with a sense of growing jealousy - and understanding. Jealousy that it was a useless human girl that was holding the one thing she wanted, and understanding that for all the fact that Makoto was the son of one who was but a step away from full Ascendance, he was nothing compared to his half-siblings who bore their father's legacy in their veins.

He would never be anything more than a gifted mortal Chosen to be her Prince's Avatar. Fragile, easily killed, just like the other eleven Chosen. But, why? Why did this one matter? He was neither wealthy nor influential, and the only link he had to a family that was both had disowned him a decade ago. He was but another soul amidst countless thousands.

Why did he matter?

_'Lilith.'_

The female devil looked up to see the white-clad form of her brother, Areil, standing at the bottom of the stairwell. Leaning against him, her eyes milky and unseeing, was Tokiya's classmate, Tomoe. Areil held up a folder.

_'Asamu told me to pass this to you.'_

**X X X X X X**

Lunch had ended 20 minutes ago, and Makoto had yet to return to the class. The fact that his bag was still there told Sophia that he was still in school. She knew the reasons why he was acting so strangely today, and it made the female angel smile sadly. It had been problematic, but the conversations she had had with Harafel, Saori-sensei and several of her classmates allowed her to further understand the events that had made Makoto into the person he was today.

And though it did not lessen the pain of her knowing, it made her glad that someone like Ruri Hayase had been part of Makoto's life.

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City, Kyoto High School sick bay, Japan, 22nd September 1999, Wednesday, 1815 hrs**_

A knock on the door alerted Megumi Yuki that her guest had already arrived, and she put aside her pen and closed her folder. She had had enough for one day. Hiromaru-sensei had put in a request that the entire kendo team be given a medical inspection before the Tournament in Tokyo. And to make matters worse, Tenma-sensei of the swimming team had put in a similar request. That would mean she would have to check over 70 students in total.

"Come in, Shinichi," Megumi called out, pushing a stray lock of purple hair over her ear. The door to the infirmary slid open briefly before shutting again.

"Sorry I took so long, Yuki-san," Shinichi said as he put his school-bag down and the grocery bag on one of the beds, "I had some work to finish."

"Makoto's Circle of the Fallen project?"

"Amongst other things," Shinichi smiled, "So how was your day?"

"Tiring," Megumi indicated the stack of files, "And with the annual check-up round the corner...I think we may have to postpone our date until after the end of the month. Sorry. Say...I overheard Saori-chan saying that Makoto was acting out of sorts today. You have any idea why he is? She was particularly worried."

Shinichi became quiet, and his expression pensive, "I spoke to him yesterday, and he sounded fine. I don't know what happened this morning, Megumi, but I think it is best we leave him alone for now. Here..." and passed her a cold drink, "I think you'll need this. By the way, where's Asamu-san? I thought you said he'd be here today?"

Megumi scowled, "That _baka_ cancelled it just 15 minutes ago. He had been asked by our family to pick Sahaka up from the police station."

"Megumi..." Shinichi asked, "Do you really think that Sahaka killed Goro-san?"

The school doctor cracked the tab on the drink and took a long swallow before replying that she would not put it past his cousin to do so, before proceeding to tell him that Sahaka was not so stupid as to remain at the crime scene, nor so low that he would sink to killing his own friends. He lived by the rules of the street, and the one cardinal rule there was to not sell out one's own friends - whether it be to the police or to rival gangs.

"And besides," Megumi added, finishing the drink, "Sahaka uses knives. The weapon used to kill Goro was probably a sword - a heated one. And...it's just me...but I have a feeling that Sahaka may have gotten the attention that he always wanted - the kind that gets him killed. I think the Kiyamachi Killer has her sights set on Sahaka - but before she kills him, she wants to play with him first."

Shinichi shivered as the image took shape in his mind. It didn't help as lines from the Circle of the Fallen made that image all the more terrifying. Then he paused. She? Why did Megumi-san think of the Kiyamachi Killer as a she?

"Megumi-san...why is it that you think that the Kiyamachi Killer is female?"

"Because," Megumi replied, slapping a hand on the newspaper dated several days back when Goro had been found butchered in the Silver Crane's toilet, "the way the Kiyamachi Killer acts and operates has the one thing that is lacking in most other psychopaths - elegance. Strip away all the blood and gore and planned mutilations, and you can tell that most of those she kills took a **_long_** time to die. If the Kiyamachi Killer had been male, they wouldn't last beyond 15 minutes before blood loss took its toll on his victims."

"I still say that you're basing your deductions on your instincts, Megumi. And that is not enough to bring the Slayer to justice."

**X X X X X X **

_**Kyoto City Metropolitan police station, Japan, 22nd September 1999, Wednesday, 2245 hrs**_

"How long is he going to take?" Yashiro Mika asked as she lit up another cigarette. It had been twenty minutes since they had arrived at the metropolitan police station, and there was still no sign of their employer's troublesome offspring nor the person who had gone into the station to bring him out. Mika sauntered over to Asamu, who had a cigarette dangling from his lips, and leaned forward, allowing the fired tip of hers to light his up.

"Thanks, Ya-chan."

"You look like hell, Asamu. Have you been sleeping well?'

Asamu shook his head. Mika didn't say a word. She knew that her friend had issues. Before he joined the Mikage family - who he was related to - as a bodyguard, Asamu had been a US Marine before he came home and had seen action in some of the world's hot zones. The jade-haired Mika remembered the young man Asamu had been before he left for the United States. The Asamu she leaned next to was a far cry from the one she knew. There were times that she missed the old, rambunctious Asamu that he had been once.

"It's gonna be cold tonight," Asamu said, blowing a puff of smoke into the air, "May have to stop by the 7-11 to buy some whisky. Hate the damn cold. By the way, Mika, who's on duty t the family mansion tonight?"

"Squads 3, 5 and 7. Mahmoud-san is the DO for tonight."

"Mahmoud-san? Our new guy from Pakistan? "

"Yup."

"Is he good?"

"Uh-huh. He may be a bit old, but he once fought in Afghanistan against the Russians," Mika said, "And with the family already afraid that Sahaka has become the target for the Kiyamachi Killer, they're going to push forward the timetable for our newest recruits in China. They'll be here by the end of the month. That is, if they survive..."

"I don't blame Sahaka his reaction when he saw what the Killer did to his friend, but what makes the family think he has become the target? This," Asamu replied, indicating the three cars and the ten well-armed bodyguards, "is too much. Do you think the Killer is crazy enough to try another stunt like the one he did at the Silver Crane here? In front of a police station?"

Mika rolled her eyes before proceeding to tell Asamu that it was best not to take any chances when it came to the cunning Killer. Sahaka may not be a target, but he was well-known enough to become one should the Killer want another high-profile victim. And, all things considered, she pointed out, the delinquent son of their employers did not deserve to die in the same fashion his friend had.

Asamu remained silent, but Mika heard the unspoken words in the way he crushed his cigarette beneath his boot. The dull rumble of thunder caused both of them to look at the sky, and the sleeting chill of the wind caused them to shiver despite their protective clothing. Asamu took out another cigarette and lit it, clenching it between his teeth. He hated the cold, always hated the cold. It brought back bad memories. The freezing air always brought with it the copperish scent of blood and cordite. Asamu knew that was all in the mind, but they felt all too real to him.

It was not so long ago that he was in Rwanda, watching the events that would paralyze a world. He and his buddies from the US Marines had been part of the UNAMIR forces there, led by General Dallaire, and they had tried their best to protect the helpless. It was there, of all places, when he was cut off from his friends, that he had met 'Shion'. She and several others were there to destroy an Ebon Legion Fallen who had been instrumental in starting the massacre, but that it had eluded them. 'Shion' offered Asamu a pact; in return for his service, she would allow him to return home to Japan safely.

He had been badly wounded then, and the cold African night had been a twisted knife in those wounds. But, it was not the physical wounds that hurt; it were the ones in his soul. He had seen a world simply stand by as a genocide played itself out before its very eyes - and done nothing to stop it. The ideals he once believed in, he realised, could be used by the powerful who knew how to manipulate that which others held dear. Such was the way of those in power, as it allowed them to keep their positions and control those that served them.

But, they mattered.

Those ideals mattered. For what was a man without anything to believe in? Such beliefs may be small and petty things in the greater scheme of things, but it gave hope that the world can be a better place. And if it means selling one's soul to the devil so that that light can burn brighter, then so be it.

Asamu made the pact, and 'Shion' delivered on her promise. Hutu tribesmen had come upon them then at that moment, hungry for atrocity, and the sight of a helpless US marine and four beautiful foreign girls must have been like a godsend to them. As he lit another cigarette, he remembered the drawings Makoto's father had made for his Circle of the Fallen project. Like most people, he believed that such beings did not exist - and even when he made the pact, he had thought that 'Shion' had been joking.

That was until they changed to those beautiful, terrifying figures out of those drawings. The last thoughts that passed through Asamu's mind was that somewhere, somehow, before Makoto's father had come to Japan, he had stood before such mighty spirits. His buddies had found him several minutes latter amidst the dismembered corpses of the tribesmen.

But, deep inside his soul, he felt the corrupted taint that such a pact invoked. It was a malady that had no cure. As he recovered in a US military hospital in Egypt, he met one of Shion's thralls. Her name was Elizabeth Troy. She worked as a nurse there, and had been instructed to explain the terms of the pact. First and foremost was that the pact was binding, and that the only one capable of ending it was Shion herself. Second was the fact that the pact granted the (person?) power in exchange for allowing the Fallen to use his or her soul to tap from the infinite blessing of God's grace that they were denied. The more pacts the Fallen had, the better.

Third was the fact that the pact brought out the vices that would normally be easily suppressed to the fore. They would be harder to control, requiring satiation each time they arose. And lastly, whenever their mistress needed their services, the sigil that marked them as her servants would burn like fire till they answered her summons.

Elizabeth had further informed him that unlike a majority of Shion's thralls, he had a purpose besides being just another power source. He was one of a handful of thralls that could properly train and equip those select thralls that would accompany Shion into battle, or to protect those that she sent into his keeping to recuperate from their injuries. Many of those, Asamu brought into SHIELD, the international security agency that also doubled as the Mikage family's bodyguards. With some of them in key positions in the organisation, it would allow their fellows to be redeployed to where Shion needed them. It also ensured that they would receive the training and equipment necessary to carry out their assigned tasks.

Shion, pleased with his actions, left him mostly alone. Excluding the time they had met in Rwanda, this was the fifth time they had ever met face-top-face. She had come to Japan several weeks back on a mission that would bring the war between her masters and Heaven to a final conclusion. Whatever it was that would win them their war, Asamu did not know, but he had a gut feeling that it revolved around the son of a man he admired.

But what was it that Makoto had that could bring about the victory that the Fallen have hungered for ever since their exile into the Abyss?

"Hey, Asamu, here they come..." Mika said, jerking Asamu out of his thoughts. The purple-haired bodyguard saw Sahaka emerge from the police station with the family retainer. Time to get back to work. There would be time enough to talk to Areil later; Shion's brother would be more than willing to fill in the blanks.

**X X X X X X**

_**Church of the Savior, Japan, 22nd September 1999, Wednesday, 1130 hrs **_

Shizuka looked out the window of the small residential wing that housed her and five other nuns who took care of the Church that stood a stone's throw away from Kyoto High. The dark-haired, young nun had been unable to sleep. The cold rain beat hard against her window, and she could hear the wind howling like a tormented soul. It was the same sound she heard in her dreams, as she stood, naked, amidst a burning city bathed under the light of a single crimson star surrounded by the shadows of ten titanic figures, enormous as gods could be.

And from the heart of that star, descending majestically of six massive wings, was...

Shizuka trembled, and shook her head to clear her mind of that terrifying image. She could feel that winged figure's gaze upon her, could almost see the mocking, triumphant smile that curved perfect lips, feel the cruel, vindictive gaze from perfect green eyes, and feel the softness of the crimson mane that flew in the hurricane-force winds that ripped a dying world apart.

But, it were the preludes to that ending that frightened Shizuka. The earthquakes in America, the skyrocketing murders around the world, the political instability in several regions of the world, the arrival of Lilith and Sophia, the awakening of the Hornless One, the war between the Exile and the Six Royals, the Rome bombings in May...all of it she had seen in her dreams. She had kept her gifts a secret even from the Reverend Mother for years, so as she could live a life without the Inquisition's Ophanim watching her every move. She knew that which only a select few in the Church knew: the Seers were the ones most vulnerable to possession and madness.

Many a time, a Seer was possessed by a powerful Fallen, or a mighty Earthbound spirit, and had to be destroyed before the being fully incarnated in its host. The safeguards, though effective, were akin to computer firewalls; they could be 'hacked' and circumvented. Shizuka did not have even that. All she had was a belief that God would protect her.

But, if her dreams were any indication, she would soon not have even that.

Despite the storm that raged outside, she felt something akin to anticipation deep within her soul. Something was about to happen.

Something terrible.

A scene in a grand play that would paralyse its audience.

Shizuka knew it was coming, could **_feel_** its arrival. Like the lightning that forked across the stormy skies, and like the city that shook beneath the deafening thunderclap that followed, that event would shake the world to its very foundations. Her eyes drifted to the school that was a stone's throw away from the Church.

It was there that the lines of Fate converged.

For there, a mighty angel of Death who exiled herself from Heaven worked. For there, the son of the one who had inherited the title of the Bloody Angel, studied, and who was born with but the faintest whisper of his father's power. For there, a female angel and a female devil had come to court - of all the children of that fell champion - a chance (unknowing to them) to win that which had been the one thing both loyal and rebel angel had desired ever since the Fall.

For there, a female devil and a female angel had come. For there, a mighty Angel of Death resided. For there, the son of one who had inherited the title of the Bloody Angel, studied, and who was born with but the faintest whisper of his father's power. For there, love, hate, hope, faith, ambition and dreams converged.

Kyoto High.

**_To be continued…_**


	10. The Eye of Iblis, Part 4

_**Chapter 5, Part 4: The Eye of Iblis - Among the ruins**_

_**Author's Note: **_This entire story is but a first draft. As a result, there will be _**glaring **_inconsistencies. I'll settle it with a better second draft, and include all the disclaimers needed to keep the lawyers off my back. Trust me.

This one has a familiar character(s) out of Chrono Crusade.

**X X X X X X**

_**Tsuki Restaurant residential level, Kyoto City, Japan, 23rd September 1999, Thursday, 0450 hrs**_

Saya Mikage rolled over in her futon, her eyes looking up at the stormy sky that she could see from her room window. The events of the day had made it difficult for her to fall into a peaceful slumber. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating her darkened room, before a deafening thunderclap deafened the inhabitants of the city. Saya winced before looking at the digital clock that rested a foot away from her futon.

It was 4:50 in the morning.

Makoto had come back 2 hours ago, long after she had closed shop for the day. She had almost screamed at him for leaving her alone to captain the ship, but something in his eyes had caused her fury to dissipate. There had been a deep weariness and sorrow in his eyes that frightened Saya, as it reminded her of the days after Makoto found out what had happened to Ruri. As much as she was frightened of what he would do to Sahaka, it was what he would do to himself that scared her more. The thought of her finding him in a pool of his own blood or vomit was the stuff of her nightmares.

Saya remembered the failed suicide attempt, and the horror at finding the blood spilling from her nephew's wrists almost cost her twenty years of her life. She had slapped him hard, then, and did the one thing that she had never done for so long - she broke down. She had not cried when life placed hard decisions before her elder sister and her. She had not cried when their parents died. She had not cried when her sister and her brother-in-law died.

But, then and there, at the thought of losing the only thing that was the only link to a past she cherished, she did. The scars were still there, would _**always**_ be there, faint against his skin, a reminder of a time when her nephew's cherished hopes and dreams fell apart because of his cousin's selfish lust. It would have been so easy to pin the blame on Ruri, just like her schoolmates had done, but Saya had known Ruri ever since she was a child, and knew that the young daughter of the Hayase family had a good head on her shoulders.

But, whenever Saya looked at Ruri, she saw the younger version of her older sister. The poise, the proud, defiant tilt of her head, the challenging smile, the passion in her eyes...all of her attributes reminding the fiery woman of her own shortcomings. The fiery woman did dare say it out loud for fear of incurring her nephew's wrath, but she was glad that what had happened to Ruri happened. Makoto belonged to her, and no other...

Saya's eyes widened and she shot up in her futon. What in Kami-sama's name was wrong with her?

Ruri did not deserve what happened to her. And to think of her nephew in such a fashion was wrong! Wrong! The image of her almost kissing him caused the copper-haired woman to blush, and the memory of his breath on her skin caused her heart to race. What would it feel like, to _**really**_ kiss him, to really hold him, to make him hers?

A soft, treacherous voice in her mind told her that it would be worth finding out. Saya shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the erotic images that was slowly taking shape in her mind. No matter how much she wished it, she was related to her nephew by blood, and by that bond alone was she forbidden to make her nephew her lover.

She stood up and headed for the kitchen, intending to make a hot drink to help her sleep. A brief stop-over at her nephew's room revealed that he was sleeping soundly. She slid the shoji door close before resting her head on the door-post. Her nephew had cried himself to sleep.

"One day, Makoto-chan, one day...you'll stop crying. I promise...for what it's worth. I promise..." she whispered softly into the quiet darkness of her home.

_**X X X X X X**_

_**Lilith's apartment, Kyoto City outskirts, Japan, 23rd September 1999, Thursday, 0450 hrs**_

_She was not alone._

_Hovering majestically over those mortals who had chosen to side with the Morningstar's rebellion, she could see dozens of her compatriots as they struggled to bring down the mighty King of the Tempest, Varpulis. She was clutching a flaming sword as she faced down one of Varpulis's bodyguards, whose blazing eyes spoke volumes of her daring to defy the will of the Almighty._

_The plan to kill the mighty Varpulis had been planned for decades before it was undertaken. The King of the Tempest, even without his bodyguards, was a formidable adversary. His wings spread from horizon to horizon, and clad in a suit of armour formed out of solidified storm-clouds, and wielding a mighty whip that struck with the force of the very elements he ruled. Lilith saw that her leader, Duchess Asherel, as titanic as a mountain, her great wings covering entire plains under its shadow, was having a hard time against Varpulis._

_Her otherwise perfect plan of attack had but one flaw: she had __**not**__ expected Varpulis to have a retinue. That was so unlike the King of the Tempest, but it nevertheless made matters difficult for Duchess Asherel's followers. The only thing the Fallen had to their advantage were numbers._

_And one glaring weakness._

_Beneath them, the mortal flocks that had sided with the Fallen sang for them, praising them, giving them the power they needed to challenge their loyalist brothers and sisters. Over three dozen rebel angels stood protectively over them, launching bolts of flame and lightning at any loyalist angel that came within range and countering any Charm that would otherwise hurt them._

_"Treacherous whore," the loyalist angel spat, "To think you would sink this low to kill one who is your better! What was it that the Morningstar offered that would have you turn on those you once called friend and family?"_

_Lilith smirked, readying her sword, "Mankind's adoration and..." dashing forward to bring her sword down on the other angel's sword, "God's destruction."_

_The other angel's eyes widened, and he screamed, "Blasphemous monster! I cannot believe that I once called you sister!"_

_"And I cannot believe that I have a fool for a brother who cannot see that he __**IS**__ greater than the thing that God had asked us to abase ourselves before! I will __**NOT**__ have it! I will sooner perish than be forced to my knees before Adam's children!"_

_"And so you force them to theirs, Lilith? You do to them what you will not do yourself?"_

_"And why not? What do they have that marks them as superior to us? Tell me...!" and their swords crashed again and again with the force of thunderbolts. The loyalist celestial could not answer._

_"See! Nothing! Nothing at all! And you, Michael and everyone in the Holy Host simply bowed without asking __**WHY**__ and for __**WHAT**__ you were bowing to! We may have created humanity, Variel, but they were meant to stand by our side as our equals - not as our superiors! If you hate what is happening, then blame them! Had they not existed, than this war will never have happened!"_

_"BLASPHEMERS!!!" a voice roared out like thunder. Lilith glanced briefly to the source of the voice. What she saw caused her to grin. The armour of the Varpulis was rent in many places, and his face was drenched in blood. Variel was horrified by what he saw, and the female rebel angel took advantage of that fact to decapitate her adversary with a single stroke before hurling his body down to the earth, torn to ribbons._

_Lilith's triumph was short-lived._

_She barely had enough time to see Varpulis's whip slicing through the air with terrible force, its target evident. The King of the Tempest had but one chance to win - he had to take out the humans who provided the rebel angels with their power. Lilith felt her heart twist and harden, as the whip hit the ground with a force that caused it to shatter and the greenery for miles around to be blasted to oblivion in an explosion..._

...as loud as the thunderclap that caused the sleeping devil to snap awake, her naked body drenched in sweat. Lilith's eyes darted about her small room warily, half-expecting servants of the Tyrant to materialise out of thin air and deliver a long-overdue sentence that He had levied upon all His rebellious servants. There was nothing there. Not one of the wards she had put in a five-block radius around her haven had been tripped.

Sweeping her legs off her bed, Lilith stood up and strode towards the window, swinging the blanket about her lithe frame as she did so. Lightning forked in the stormy skies above, a grim reminder to the female devil of that day thousands of years ago when the mighty Varpulis had been slain. The Grand Canyon in the American State of Nevada was the very site of the Battle of a Thousand Pyres, its caves and crevasses created when Duchess Asherel finally flung the corpse of the mighty seraph down.

It wouldn't be long before the same fate befell the Creator and His lapdogs.

Her eyes turned towards the folder that her brother had passed her yesterday. It contained summarised reports from Asamu's contacts in Interpol and several police departments in several major cities worldwide regarding children that had gone missing in the last five years. The number was staggering, to say the least. The few bodies that had been recovered by the police were nothing less than blood-stained, mutilated, defiled corpses, looker smaller in death than they had been in life.

From the pictures taken of the crime scene, the female devil could confirm that the blood rites had been carried out at the behest of one of her kind - one that had been utterly consumed by Torment. The rush of power and the satiation of Torment made the suppression of such rites virtually impossible amongst the Unholy Host. Lilith had tasted it but once to know that the transcendant feeling it brought was addictive, and she loathed to be a slave to anything but her ambitions.

But, it was clear that this Fallen had other plans outside of mere self-gratification. But what were they? The power it had amassed from so many sacrifices was considerable, and if it held a high rank in the Unholy Host, it would be able to cast a high-level Charm without needing to worry about a possible backlash. There were several possible scenarios to that end.

The first was that it would cast a Charm that would allow it to bring about a natural disaster like an earthquake or a typhoon. The second was one that would see an ancient beast remembered only in the legends of mankind set free. The third was one that would, if the rite was performed properly, could weaken the dimensional barriers. The fourth was that it was amassing power to confront a powerful enemy such as the awakening vampire Ancients.

Lilith paused. Could it be possible that the Rapture several months prior might be due that happening? Could it be possible that the Fallen that was responsible for those sacrifices was attempting to weaken the barriers that separated Hell from Earth? The sigils that blasted skywards in a spiral of ghostly flames that day were the exact same places where the Legion fortresses had once stood in a long, bygone age. It was from there that the armies of the Morningstar marched against their loyalist siblings. It was from there that those who had chosen to follow the First Angel defied the Creator.

And it willl be from there that the Fallen will reclaim their place in Heaven when their Prince walks the Earth in mortal flesh, breaking the chains that the Tyrant placed on him.

Another thunderclap shook the city.

No...it was far too early to jump to conclusions. For all she knew, it could be something else entirely. The only thing she could do was to rely on her brother to uncover the truth. If she so much as stuck out her head, she could very well find herself embroiled in the politics of the region's Infernal Court - something she could not afford at this point in time. The mission entrusted to her by the Pandaemonium Circle - the seven daughters of the Morningstar - was one that Lilith had no intention of failing. Thus, when she had run into Zaziel several weeks back, she had little choice but to silence him. The fact that she had killed one of the Ebon Legion's dogs without being implicated was an added bonus - and a reminder that she had better keep her eyes open.

If the Pandaemonium Circle found out that she had put the Chosen Avatar in danger, they were going to do more than make her scream.

Her cell-phone rang. When she answered, she found that it was her brother on the other end. And the words he said next caused the female devil to slam a fist against the wall in fury. Had the wards that prevented her from using her inhuman strength not been placed, it would have crumbled beneath the blow.

_**"There is an Ebon Legion Bloodguard in Kyoto. There have already been seven deaths tonight."**_

What else could go wrong?

_**X X X X X X **_

_**Sophia's apartment, Kyoto City, Japan, 23rd September 1999, Thursday, 0500 hrs**_

Something was not right.

That was the first thought to cross Sophia's mind when one of her owl spirit familiars had materialised in her room to inform her that someone - or something - had come to the city. The familiar shared what it had seen with its master, and the female angel saw the chilling image of an alleyway drenched in blood. Lying on the cold concrete were the torn bodies of three young men and two girls who, upon closer inspection, caused Sophia to choke back a scream of horror. She knew them - all of them.

The girls were Minase Yukiko and Serika Kuno. The three young men were Hazashi Arima, Kuro Hayashiba and Bob Arima, the older brother of Hazashi. All of them were Makoto's schoolmates. Minase, Hazashi and Kuro -- all of them were Makoto's classmates. By all that was holy, who - or rather, when she saw the injuries, what - had done this to them?

As is sensing the question, the familiar flew in closer, and Sophia's eyes widened. The fact that the injuries were caused by inhuman hands were evident. Not by blade or gun, but by a lethal combination of Charm and talon. A Black Spiral were-beast, perhaps? A vampire whose humanity was lost to the Beast? Or...wait, that smell...

It was faint, mingled in the thick scent of blood and semen, but it was a scent that she knew. It was the faintest scent of sulphur and corruption, mingled with the cloying scent of honey. It was a scent that would drive those capable of smelling it insane, as it whispered softly in the psyche of humanity of a temptation that can lead to a sweet, terrible ruin.

Sophia's eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. There was no denying the fact what manner of creature had murdered her friends: a devil - but one who was closer to being a sadistic monster than the lustful tempters than made up more than half of the Adversary's servants. Suddenly, the familiar looked up, sensing someone - or something - approach. The owl spirit took to the air, masking its presence swiftly, before perching in the shadows of an abandoned building.

Two figures soon stepped into view moments later. The first person who stepped into the light caused Sophia's eyes to widen. So, Lilith did not come to Kyoto alone. Clad in white, as if having emerged from a cocktail reception, was Lilith's brother, Areil, one hand wreathed in flame, his expression grim as he gazed upon the bodies. His companion stepped into the light, sweeping the deserted alley with a gun.

She recognised the man almost immediately. She had seen his likeness in a picture frame in the office of her school nurse. The family resemblance between the both of them was unmistakable.

_'Asamu Yuki? He's one of Lilith's retainers?'_

_**"Damn it, Areil...we're too late," **_Asamu said as he lowered his gun, his features hardening at the slaughter he beheld.

_**"You can say that again. Lucifer's Throne...these pitiful bastards did not stand a chance," **_Areil said as he knelt down, before suddenly freezing, _**"Asamu..."**_

_**"Areil...? What's wrong?" **_the purple-haired man asked as he approached, freezing and turning pale the moment he saw the face of the victim Areil had been kneeling beside. Asamu proceeded to swear in three languages, before pulling his cellphone out, _**"I'm calling Shion."**_

_**"Wait..." **_Areil said, _**"Let's find out who did this before we call her."**_

It took them ten minutes to put the pieces of the puzzle together, and when they did, the answer made even Areil, a hardened veteran of a thousand battles, look shaken. Asamu was paler than a ghost. Sophia was trembling as memories from long ago returned.

An Ebon Legion Bloodguard. The embodiment of the Morningstar's sick determination to destroy and corrupt every beautiful thing he had once helped created in a bygone Age.

_**"What the fuck is an Ebon Legion psycho doing here? They're supposed to stick to shit-holes like Sudan, downtown Los Angeles and the Fifth Circle!" **_Asamu's voice was shaky with fright. No doubt, from his voice, Sophia knew that he had gone up against one of the Ebon Legion's killers and barely walked away. Even Areil was struggling to maintain his composure as he looked about the blood-drenched alley, half-expecting the Bloodguard to appear.

_**"My sister is not going to be happy," **_Areil said.

Asamu nodded, _**"You tell me! And what are we going to do with the bodies...?"**_

_**"Nothing we can do about them. If we make them disappear, it'd raise too many questions. When the police find these, they're going to pin the blame on my sister."**_

Sophia's eyes widened. Lilith was the Kiyamachi Slayer? She should have expected it.

_**"For now, it'd be best if we try to make it look like some mad were-beast from the Black Whirlwinds did it. If the region's Fallen Courts find out that we're here, they'll be asking questions I don't want to answer. We'll also have to deal with this monster before more people die."**_

_**"You've got my vote. And how, pray tell, are we going to do all that?" **_

Asamu smiled, and waved his one glowing hand, _**"Leave such things to me. You go get our back-up."**_

Sophia broke the link with her familiar. She knew enough to know that there was a monster far worse than Lilith and her brother put together on the loose in the city. But, Asamu Yuki had asked a good question: what was the Bloodguard doing in a place like Japan? There was no time to think about it. This monster had to be put down before more innocents perished.

_**X X X X X X**_

_**Angelic Fortress Ragnarok, an hour from the city of New York, USA, 23rd September 1999, Thursday afternoon, 1440 hrs**_

In all the years he had been part of the Steel Angel Court as one of its Oath-Sworn, never had Haru Glory ever thought what had happened two days ago had happened. His arms, and much of his body, were swathed in bandages, a testament to the ferocity of the battle between Heaven's loyalist factions. His black leather jacket hung over his muscular frame, and his sword, Rave, was plunged into the charred earth next to him. Running a hand through his silver hair, the young man looked at the storm dark clouds, and felt the weight of something ominous press down on his soul.

It was as if the whole world was waiting for something terrible to happen.

"There you are, Haru," a voice called out, "Laselle was looking for you."

He turned to see a girl walking up to him. She wore knee-high boots, a mini-skirt with a cross-belt where her gun-tonfas rested, and a sleeveless top beneath a red jacket. Her golden hair was dull, and her normally perky behaviour was gone. Standing next to her, in her high-heels and low-cut dress, was his other companion, Reyna. Her long, green hair fluttered in the wind as the girl walked over to him.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she scolded, "You took a worse beating than Musica and Melodia combined."

"Sorry," Haru said, "J-just trying to sort my thoughts out."

"Well, sort them out in bed!" Reyna looked at her friend's body and shivered, remembering how both she and Elie had panicked when they found him trapped beneath the rubble of what had been one of the gun-towers. Had it not been for his protective Charms, he would have died on impact.

"Not with Musica singing! You know how badly he sings!"

"No. More. Excuses," Reyna emphasised each word. Haru developed a sweatdrop and started backing away - a difficult task as he was sitting down and had one arm broken. He glanced sideways to his massive sword, and yelled in protest when Elie pulled it out of the ground and hopped several steps back.

Before Reyna could lay her hands, literally, on Haru, a familiar voice, heavy with urgency made them all freeze. Haru's sister, Cattleya Glory, shot out from the entrance Reyna and Elie had emerged from minutes earlier. Her hurried entrance and panicked expression soon caught the attention of those who were nearby. Cattleya was renowned for her ability to remain calm under fire, and the sight of her panicking did little to ease the already-frayed nerves of the angels and their mortal companions.

"Sis? What's wrong?" Haru asked, wincing briefly, as Reyna helped him up, "Are those assholes in Heaven sending in another host?"

"Worse. We've just got a message from Sieghart and Chuda. The situation in New York is worse than what Lady Mikhail had believed," Cattleya panted, "Our Church contact also just called in - and you wouldn't believe what she just told me."

"What is it?"

"The Church Inquisitorial kill-teams have found the exact location of the Avatar, and are moving in on her. Not only that, Neferiti confirms that the servants of Satan have also discovered her location, and are moving in on her. Cardinal Wesley's allies are fighting them off, but by the time they get to the Avatar, it would already be too late! Haru, they plan on killing her!"

And when Cattleya added that the city was the focal point for the confrontation of the world's mightiest monsters, Haru felt his blood run colder than when the armies of Heaven had attacked the Ragnarok just two days prior. And the sight of ten thousand of them circling the floating fortress had made even the angels of the breakaway faction turn pale. Had it not been for the potent defences of the fortress, the entire edifice would have been blasted from the sky.

"That does it. I've had enough," Haru said, his voice icy, "I'm going to see Leruel to get my wounds healed - and then I'm going to New York."

"Haru!" Reyna protested.

"You're injured, Glory," one of the angels said, "You'd best sit this one out."

"No way, ho say," Haru replied, his fierce glare making it clear to everyone that he was either walking there - or jumping off the Ragnarok with a parachute, "We've got to stop those Church wackos from doing the one mistake that will fuck Creation all the way to Doomsday. And what more, it would make those disgusting shits in Heaven think that they were right in abandoning Earth in the first place - and that I CANNOT stand! I'm going, and that's FINAL!"

"Damn it..." Reyna scowled, and looked to her friend for help, "Elie...!"

Elie shook her head, and the green-haired woman sighed in frustration, "Damn it, Glory. You're a troublemaker of the first degree!"

Haru grinned at her and Elie, before turning to face his compatriots, "What do you guys and girls say to a little trip down to New York? I heard that the pizza's excellent there."

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, USA, 23rd September 1999, Thursday afternoon, 1440 hrs**_

The cultist fell to the ground in a splatter of blood as Lucia lowered her pistol. God damn it, just how many of these cultists are there? Ever since the quake turned the city into a war-zone, they had been crawling out of the woodwork like cockroaches. Lucia, Natashia, Faia, Io, Nial and Sheik made one of the six teams that were combing the city looking for the Avatar. Cardinal Wesley had called in earlier, informing them that the Avatar was in New York, and he had it from an excellent source that his compatriots from the Vatican and the servants of the Fallen also knew. Now, the question was who would reach her first.

If such a thing was possible in this city-turned-battleground. The Masquerade was practically out the window, and the city's supernatural denizens were not about to pull their punches when their lives - or un-lives, in the case of the vampires - were on the line. To find a single girl in such a large area was akin to finding a needle in a haystack. Nothing short of a bloody miracle would make the search any easier.

Added to the fact that death hid in every shadow and she had been separated from the rest made it several degrees harder than it should be. When Lucia suddenly found herself pinned to the ground, and the alcohol-rank breath of her captor filled her nostrils, she knew she was in trouble. In her current position, there was no way she could kick the bastard off her.

"Well, well...lookee here..." her assailant said, the cold edge of a knife soon under her chin, "What a catch...and she's walking the street all alone."

"Get the fuck off me, loser," Lucia snarled, trying to dislodge the man. She soon found it to be a bad idea, as she felt his hardening member between her buttocks. One hand went beneath her trapped body and squeezed one of her breasts, "She packs a rack and a sweet ass. Hey guys! Come on over...we can have some fun with this one before we cut her throat."

Lucia turned her head sideways, and saw at least four other men emerge from the alleyway. The lustful look in their eyes made her blood run cold. She was not an easy girl to scare. She had seen the uglier side of the world - and things she would not have believed existed - in her time with the Seraphs. But, no matter how much she had seen, what was about to happen terrified the perky girl. Still, she kept her cool. No use getting panicky and giving these bastards a thrill. She could only hope Sheik and the others found her in time.

"Indeed, Gill. You got a good one this time," another voice spoke up, "The master will be pleased with another sacrifice. And yes, we can...Oh, wait! I know you. Hello, Lucia. It's been a long time."

Lucia turned her head to the voice to look upon a young man in his early twenties, wearing a robe belonging to the cultists of Mashistaru, the Violet Prince. The voice was familiar. The face was familiar. But who was he?

"Man, I'm heartbroken, Luce," said the young man when he saw the look of consternation of her face, "It's been only - what? - three years ever since you dropped out of sight and you've forgotten all about me. Remember the good old days in MIT?"

Lucia's eyes widened. Now she remembered who this punk was. It was her former schoolmate, Duke Stephen. He had been known in MIT as being the rich, bad-boy racer of MIT's Motor Club. Many girls considered Duke hot, back then. Now, he was even more handsome, but there was a look of icy arrogance that she had seen one too many times on vampire elders. It was the look of one who saw others as tools to be used and discarded.

And this stupid idiot had sold his soul - literally - to a devil. So did she, but the clauses of her pact were one of her making - and had every intention of keeping. The pay-offs were better than what Dumb Duke had sold his soul for.

"Yeah...and it seems that you only got dumber in the three years," Lucia replied, "So, you sold your soul to Mashistaru."

"In the same way you sold yours to Arikiba," Duke replied, referring to Sheik's Celestial Name, "The only difference is that Lord Mashistaru is far more generous with his gifts than Arikiba has been with his."

"I never asked him for any of such 'gifts', Duke Dumb-balls," Lucia sniped, and gave a strangled gasp as another cultist helped the one pinning her down to her feet, "And what the hell are you doing in Doomsday Central? Finding girls to screw before you kill them?"

"If you want an answer, Luce," Duke said, stepping closer and licking her neck in an erotic fashion, before tracing a now-drawn, ornate knife from her collarbone to between her full, large breasts, "yes. Our master demanded more sacrifices so that he can incarnate on this plane and bring vengeance upon the lapdogs of that bastard in Heaven. The more traumatised and violated the soul, the more power it gives him."

Duke put one hand went beneath her short skirt, and sought the opening between her legs, stimulating the clitoris, before he cut through Lucia's clothes, revealing her impressive cleavage and her lush, toned body to the open air. He and his fellow cultists grinned savagely, "And I'm going to enjoy this. I've always wanted to fuck you, ever since I first laid my eyes on you and Faia. I'll do it to my heart's content before I kill you...let my friends have their way, and then, we'll find sweet Faia and do the same to her. Oooh...the thought of her screaming and struggling as I fuck her is making me sooo hot and hard...! And if I get lucky, I may even be able to take down Arikiba. Doing so will earn me my master's highest favour and make me a force to be reckoned with..."

Lucia felt terror and revulsion almost overwhelm her courage. She knew how powerful Mashishtaru was. The rebel angel had allies and a network equal to most vampire elders who had lived for centuries, and the Fallen lord was a devious creature.

"Don't you dare touch...No, l-let go of me..." Lucia whimpered as she felt one of the cultists push his hardened member against her ass, ready to penetrate the orifice. The brown-haired girl's eyes widened in fear. Duke was euphoric at the sight of Lucia's terrified expression. He removed his robes and undid his trousers hurriedly, eager to thrust his member into her when the cultist who was getting ready to sodomise her was suddenly catapulted backward in a splatter of blood and brains. Lucia quickly leapt out of the way.

A cold voice, its anger causing even reality to shake, cut through the air, "Mashistaru must be tired of living if he seeks to make a move against me."

Everyone whirled to see a well-built, armoured figure emerge from the smoke and flames, blood dripping from the crackling talons that protruded from taloned gauntlets. Four, enormous black wings were spread threateningly, and a blazing halo crowned a dark-haired head. His ornate armour, silver-gold and adorned with wings and thunderbolts, was wet with blood.

"Sheik!" Lucia cried, her voice filled with relief.

"Arikiba!" Duke gave a strangled cry, tripping over his trousers. The other cultists were paralysed in terror. Up close and personal, in his full Divine Aspect, the Nephilim prince was beyond awesome. His eyes were crimson with rage, with the reptilian slit making him look all the more demonic. Duke could feel his distant master, looking through his eyes, shiver in terror, and the thrall realised, albeit belatedly, the one other reason why he and so many others had been sent on this mission. His master had wanted to know how powerful the Nephilim prince was. He blinked as blood suddenly splashed onto his face, and he turned to see his fellow cultists practically fly to pieces, screaming. They tried to fight back, but they were slower than their inhumanly quick assailant.

Arikiba reappeared before him, black feathers descending like snow. In the midst of a backdrop of a city's devastation, the Nephilim prince was almost...beautiful. A tail materialised then, and wrapped gently around Lucia, helping the girl to her feet, before it lashed around Duke and lifted him into the air.

"And now, asshole," Sheik hissed, the bloodied talons of his weapon an inch from his neck, "I want to know where the Avatar is, and who else among the Earthbound and the Fallen Courts are seeking him."

Duke felt his mouth move, and his master's voice emerged from his lips, "AN ARROGANT BOAST, NEPHILIM CHILD. YOUR POWER IS BUT A FRACTION OF MINE, AND I HAVE KNOWLEDGE BEYOND YOURS. DO YOU THINK YOURSELF ABLE TO CHALLENGE ME?"

Sheik did not answer, further infuriating the Fallen-possessed man he held in his prehensile tail, turning his attention instead on Lucia, "Are you all right?"

"I will be...but I think I'll need new clothes," the girl replied, contrite, "Sorry about all of this."

"Not your fault," Sheik replied, "And...besides, we finally have someone who may answers that Cardinal Wesley does not. And he can't get away...at all."

"THE MORTAL YOU HOLD IN YOUR GRASP IS BUT A DISPOSABLE PAWN, NEPHILIM CHILD. REST ASSURED THAT YOU AND YOUR ALLIES WILL PAY FOR THIS INSULT, AND THAT YOUR MOTHER CANNOT PROTECT YOU FROM MY WRATH."

"Protect me from you?" Sheik replied, his voice rich in amusement, "My mother never protected me because I never needed protection. But if you think you can lay a hand on me or my companions, you are sorely mistaken."

Sheik spoke several phrases that sounded like music to Lucia's ears, but it made the demon-possessed thrall struggle ferociously as a blazing mandala took shape beneath his feet. The brown-haired girl saw the faint shape of a winged figure taking shape behind Duke, struggling to take to the air before barbed chains of divine flame lashed out from the mandala and seized its ethereal form.

"And when I am through with you, Mashishtaru, you will wish God had been the one wielding the lash..."

**X X X X X X**

In Washington, hundreds of miles away, a senator sitting in his office convulsed and fell heavily to the floor as he felt those same fiery, mystical chains reach out across the country at the speed of thought, tightening about the ancient soul that dwelled within his body.

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, USA, 23rd September 1999, Thursday afternoon, 1640 hrs**_

Satella Harvenheit, Jewel Witch, born during the early 1900s in Germany prior to the First World War, gazed upon a city she had once visited over seven decades back. Her ankle-length, crimson hair fluttered in the hot wind as her russet eyes gazed upon a vista of destruction she had seen only once before over half a century ago. It was a memory etched into her mind of a day that was the culmination of a young nun's decade-long search for her brother, of a Jewel Witch's ruthless blood-hunt for the hornless demon that had slaughtered her family, and of a Covenanted demon's long struggle to be forgiven his many sins.

Those same memories had her mind's eye behold that of the young nun's face, golden-haired, full of life and fire, her blue eyes blazing with determination. Rosette Christopher had been her name, and she was the master - if such the term had ever been used, considering their relationship - of the Covenanted demon, Chrono, and the self-proclaimed 'big sister' of Azmaria Hendric, a young girl the first two had rescued from devil-worshippers who wanted to use her powers to their own ends.

A group that attracted more trouble than bees could to an open pot of honey.

If their first meeting was any indication of the trials she would have faced in the future, she would have been better off working on her own! But, on hindsight, perhaps her meeting them had been a blessing in disguise. Even Steiner, her manservant, and the only member of her family left alive, agreed that her relationship with Rosette and her companions had a positive effect on her. And indeed, Satella could remember herself laughing more during the period she had known those three troublemakers than any point in her life.

But now...as the red-haired Jewel Witch gazed upon the wreckage of a once-bustling metropolis, she found very little to smile about. It had only been several months since the Hendric Foundation had released her from her crystal prison in which she had cast both herself and her elder sister into, and she had seen the legacy of the sacrifices made over fifty years ago to avert the Apocalypse.

The world had changed.

And it had changed for the worse.

Satella was glad that Azmaria had foresight to plan ahead, to make a difference even though she would not be there to do so. The Hendric Foundation had been one of the few rare corporations in the world not infiltrated by the servants of the various supernaturals that hid among the human masses; its Sentinels saw to that. And, against the odds they were up against now, having an organisation as wealthy and as well prepared as the Hendric Foundation was an advantage the Jewel Witch needed badly.

The thunderous beating of wings heralded the arrival of the other, causing her to look upwards to see a winged shape descend from the hazy skies. Chrono, the Title-Divested One, one of the last few remaining survivors of the breakaway faction of rebel angels and demons that had murdered one of Lucifer's daughters in an attempt to ride the bloody crest of the Usurpation into the very arms of Armageddon, had come.

The lovely Jewel Witch felt her heart twist, remembering the day the CEO of the Hendric Foundation brought her to the high-security vault, where Chrono had been sealed after the Magdalene Order had found both him and Rosette. The pact that Rosette had made with Chrono had drained away the vitality of her soul, and the latter had no wish to live past the moment the former passed on.

Rosette clearly did not want that to happen. She wanted Chrono to live to see the future he had helped create.

Or...did she put Chrono under the aegis of his own time-stopping powers so that his powers could be used on this day, seventy years later, when the world needed him the most? The sheer sight of Chrono had demons and their rebel angel captains backpedalling in terror. He had a reputation that was as terrifying as that of the Bloody Angel, and it was clear that Hell had not forgotten what the Title-Divested One was capable of doing.

But, whatever the reason was for Rosette doing what she did, Satella was glad that Chrono was by her side. And without Rosette going berserk (as she often did) on her, the Jewel Witch had a chance to shower her affection on the demon (who panicked all the same). A playful voice at the back of her mind reminded her just how affectionate that same demon could be when he cut loose. Rather than use the pocket watch artifact and drain the vitality of her soul in order to recharge his depleted mana reserves, Chrono had used a far more...intimate alternative to do so. It had left her exhausted, and had Chrono not wrapped the entire room in a ward of silence, she would have screamed the hotel down. Satella had never felt more embarrassed in her life, and the fact that Chrono had said she had a voice as loud as Rosette's made it worse. Damn it...to be compared to that crazy berserker popcorn princess was annoying!

And she wished that that crazed berserker popcorn princess was still alive.

"Chrono?"

The purple-haired demon shook his head, "It took me a while to find the girl's apartment, but the building has collapsed."

_'Eh? Collapsed...? Does that mean...?' _"Are you saying that that Cardinal has sent us on a wild goose chase?"

Chrono shook his head, "I don't think so. The cults are still hunting for her, which means that she is probably still alive. Mashistaru," referring to the Fallen that Sheik (or Arikiba, as Chrono called him) had captured and consigned to Final Death after he was through with him, "is a Fiend. He is a demonic Seer, and his Charms allow him to track any soul on earth provided that he has something that belongs to that person. The Violet Prince is not the only Fallen who has servants scouring the streets looking for the Avatar and those have yet to stop the search."

Satella had to admit that Chrono had made a good point.

"And," a voice behind them spoke, "they are not the only ones who are searching for her."

The two turned to see that Natashia walking up to them. The blind, purple haired witch was dressed in an ensemble that was more suited to the club scene than combat - if one can ignore the flaming wrist-swords that were attached to a pair of taloned gauntlets.

"Meaning?"

Natashia snapped her fingers, and an animated gargoyle appeared behind her, holding the rent body of a man in its jaws. Another appeared, and roosted on the rooftop entrance, a harsh cry emnating from its fang-filled jaws. A familiar, sinuous sigil shone on their foreheads, indicating that Arikiba had been the one responsible for animating them.

The first gargoyle dropped the corpse. Satella gasped, and Chrono's eyes widened.

The man was wearing the uniform of the Vatican Inquisition, and that in itself would not have been too surprising, but the embossed bracer that the man wore on his remaining arm was what drew their attention. No one who had met these formidable exorcists before would ever forget them - and none of the seven Orders of the Inquisition bore the symbol of a cross super-imposed over a circle of twelve wings.

Ordo Ophanim Inquisitors - the Vatican's elite demon hunters.

"This," Satella said, "is going to get very, _very _ugly."

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto Cemetery, Kyoto City, Japan, 23rd September 1999, 0910 hrs**_

Makoto looked down at the flowers that decorated the gleaming gravestone, and he smiled quietly. The flowers were fresh and the incense sticks were still burning, indicating that they had been placed there only recently. His parents' friends had come by earlier to pay their respects before the day began, before they took their families out prior to the festival that would be held at the temples later in the evening.

He drew out a box of incense that Hojo-san, the old florist, had given him from his bag, and lit them and placing them in the empty groove at the base of the tombstone, "From Hojo-san, oka-san, otou-san...though I think it is his way of poking fun at you. And yes, the flowers I brought with me are from his shop. The same place when you first bought flowers for oka-san. Saya oba-san will be coming later. You know how busy the restaurant gets during the holiday periods. I may have to go back and work, even if she did say that I can take the day off. On the other hand...maybe it would be wiser for me to take up that offer. Heh..."

A breeze ruffled the young man's hair, and he lowered his head, allowing his bangs to shadow his grey eyes.

"I..." and he hesitated, "I saw Ruri-chan yesterday, otou-san. Remember her? The one that always begged you to tell her stories when she was a little girl? She's grown more beautiful than when I last saw her."

Memories of the times he had spent with the vibrant, lively girl came. He remembered the time he had spent with her and her family, teaching her how to cook, and helping her with her studies. He remembered how her face lit up when she smiled, how helpless she looked when she cried, and how fearsome she was when she was enraged.

Those precious memories became just that when Sahaka decided that Ruri was to be his next conquest. The events that led to the explosion that almost got him expelled from school were ones the teenager would never forget for as long as he lived. He remembered the smug looks on the faces of Ruri's rivals, and the leers of Sahaka and his hanger-ons. He remembered how Ruri changed from the vibrant, lively girl she had once been to a quiet, introverted one.

He remembered her voice, speaking words that turned him into an idiot in short order. A voice that made him believe again. And now, that same voice was being replaced by one belonging to a golden-haired, German girl, her lovely features and gentle blue eyes replacing Ruri's. The memory of the defiant tilt of her head, the arrogant smile on her lips, were being replaced by another German girl, only this one had silver-amethyst hair and blood-red eyes.

Makoto shivered. He didn't want to forget Ruri. He didn't want any other girl to replace her in his memories. He didn't want to forget everything that made his past worth remembering.

_'Bye-bye, Makoto-chan. Aishiteru.'_

And even after so long, the words that Ruri spoke to him on the day she walked out of his life were crystal clear, and sharper than any katana. He remembered his aunt's arms encircling his lean frame, telling him that everything would be all right, that the pain would go away eventually. He tried to fight back his tears, but failed miserably.

_'Fight on.'_

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City, Maria's Cafe, Japan, Thursday, 23rd September 1999, 1230 hrs**_

Tokiya Marimo burped contentedly, an act which caused her parents to roll their eyes in amusement and her little sister, Haruka, to roll hers in disgust. If there was one thing that the youngest daughter of the Marimo family disliked about her elder sibling, it was how unrefined the latter was. How Makoto-oniisan could stand her amazed the younger girl, considering that she could barely do so. The fact that Tokiya was also a vice class-representative and the captain of her school's Athletics team baffled her even more.

She remembered how Makoto-oniichan had rolled his eyes when she had asked him how in all that was holy did someone like her sister even become a vice class-representative. Speaking of which, when would Makoto-oniichan come visit them again? She missed his cooking. Haruka had been practicing hard, hoping to one day be as good as her favourite onii-san, but she needed his guidance badly.

Her mother, however, had seen it differently, and had pointed out to Tokiya that if she did not pull up her socks and improve on her culinary skills, it would be her younger daughter that would be marrying Makoto. Suffice to say, Haruka's fiesty older sister did not take THAT lying down. Even so, Haruka could not help but admit that her mother had made a good point. If her sister did do something - and soon - it wouldn't be her that would be running off with her favourite onii-chan. It would be one of the two girls that the younger girl - the same ones her sister had spoken of - had met several days after the school semester began.

The first time Haruka had seen Sophia-san, she had been in the company of Makoto-oniichan. The latter had been showing the former around the city. Curious, Haruka had trailed them for an hour before she was caught red-handed by an amused Sophia in a fast-food outlet. As her sister had described Makoto onii-chan's newestclassmate, the golden-haired German girl was beautiful, sophisticated and knowledgeable. Haruka, despite the fact that the girl was one of her sister's rivals in winning Makoto-oniichan's affections, found herself liking Sophia.

Haruka's thoughts then turned to Lilith. The memory of meeting the sultry, crimson-eyed _gaijin_ was not one the young girl would be forgetting anytime soon. Like Sophia, the amethyst-haired German girl was beautiful, but there was something dangerous about her, something perilous, that made Haruka uneasy but which drew people to the _gaijin_ like moths to a flame. That Lilith was attracted to Makoto-oniichan was evident, remembering the way the former had flirted with the latter. It was a fact made all the more concrete when her sister had returned home from school in a bad mood that had nothing to do with her teacher or the fact that it was the end of the summer vacation. When Haruka managed to find out what had driven her sister up the wall, she had been shocked. Lilith had kissed Makoto-oniichan in full view of his classmates.

In. Full. View.

Haruka passed out after hearing that.

But not before laughing her head off when her sister described in detail what Kasumi-chan, Saori-sensei, and a horde of jealous boys had done to him, at which point she almost knocked herself out from laughing too hard.

Regardless, Haruka knew that her sister's chances of making Makoto-oniichan her boyfriend was getting lower with each passing day. It had already been difficult when Kasumi-neechan and Saori-sensei had been in the equation, but Lilith-san and Sophia-san entering the picture had made it all the more complicated.

Which was why Haruka had made plans to have her favourite onii-chan spend more time with her and her family. But before she could open her mouth, one of the customers asked the waiter to turn up the volume for the restaurant's television as its regular program was interrupted by a news-flash. The cheerful air in the restaurant soon became somber as the news reporter read out the report.

Yesterday night had been one of the bloodiest nights in the history of the city, the five murders that had happened were reminiscent of the Purge that had taken place over a decade ago. Their horribly mutilated bodies had been discovered by policemen who had been patrolling the area in the early morning hours. The police department's forensics team had managed to verify the identities of the deceased within a few hours of the discovery, but their spokesperson, under orders from his superiors, had kept them undisclosed for the sake of the dead students' family members. The only thing he said was that two of the dead were workers in a 24-hour convenience store, and the remaining five had been high-school students who were on their way back from an outing. One of the reporters had asked if this was the work of the Kiyamachi Slayer, and the police spokesperson said that there was a high possibility as the injuries had all the hallmarks of the Slayer before he added that there were bullet wounds on the victims.

When asked if there was another psychopath in Kyoto, the police spokesperson fell silent, before replying that the possibility was high. The police spokeperson had added that from now on, certain areas of the city were to be closed after 10, and that everyone who lived near those areas should be indoors before midnight. The curfew, the policeman added, was to remain in place until the killers were brought to justice.

Haruka put down her fork and knife. Suddenly, she didn't feel so hungry anymore.

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City Metropolitan Police Headquarters, at that same moment**_

Katsuragi Misato had her colleagues stood at attention before the desk of Police Chief Yotsuba Ina, knowing long before she and the others had stepped into the man's office that they were all in for it. The look that the Police Chief shot them as they filed into his office, married to the presence of the city council's representative, held the promise of a blistering diatribe and questions that none of them would be able to answer.

Police Chief Yotsuba had flung their binded reports at them. The files hit Misato and her two colleagues, causing them to flinch briefly as the papers scattered, before asking a simple question that was laden with venom, "Are the lot of you trying to get me fired?"

Everybody froze.

"What is written in these reports are perhaps the worst excuses I have ever seen in my twenty-seven years as a police officer. Can you explain to me why your team has been unable to find any evidence at the crime scenes, Kiba-san?"

The 46-year old Head of Forensics met his superior's angry gaze without flinching, something Misato had to give Kiba Shirami credit for, "It is exactly as I have written in my report, Yotsuba-san. We could _**not**_," emphasising the word 'not', "find any evidence at the crime scenes. I don't know how our killer - or the copycat - does it but he cleaned up after himself."

"How are you so certain it is a man, Kiba?"

Misato flinched. The lack of a suffix and the tone in the Police Chief's voice told her that her colleague was on the verge of getting his head cut off if he did not provide a good explanation.

"The deaths from yesterday night are as brutal as the ones we have had for the past few weeks now, I do not deny, but there are key differences that point to the fact that we may have a second Kiyamachi Manslayer in the city," and Kiba held up an arm imperiously, causing the city council representative to arrest his words, "While there are similarities in the latest murders to the previous ones...there is one difference that caused me to come to this conclusion."

The Forensics Department Head picked up his department's bound report from the floor, "You see...most of the other victims were tortured in a way that would prolong their pain before they were finally allowed to die. The earlier victims were mostly male, all of whom have a criminal history that would have seen them locked away for life had it come to be known. Omura Inui was one such example..."

"Omura Inui was an upstanding member of this community before he was murdered, Kiba-san," the city council representative said, "I refuse to believe that he would have committed the acts that the media said he did. There are members in the Diet want this...butcher found and brought to justice."

"Believe what you will, Daisho-san," Kiba said, regarding the city representative with a jaundiced eye, "But the facts remain that he had gotten involved with the underworld, had profitted from it, and had betrayed the trust that the public had placed in him to protect them from the very people he was collaborating with. But, I'm not here to discuss the late Police Inspector's vices. I'm here to tell you about the Kiyamachi Slayer, so please keep quiet while I try to explain it as best I can."

Misato grinned inwardly. Trust Kiba to be able to cut another man's ability to argue with his cool logic and subtle insults.

"I do not tolerate insolence from my subordinates, Kiba - especially when they have failed to produce results," Chief Yotsuba said.

"I know - and I'm here to explain why exactly we're unable to do so to Daisho-san who is currently unable to see as to _**WHY**_ we cannot catch the Slayer."

"I've read the report before I came here, Kiba-san. It does not explain the incompetence of Kyoto's police force," the city council representative sneered, "But, by all means, try to convince me that a 'ghost' exists."

Kiba nodded, "You're a young man, Daisho-san. You're what? 26? 27? You've lived through the worst period of our city, during the 70s, back when the gangs practically had control over everything here. That was before our country's economy saw a massive surge that made us the country we are today. You were a kid of 10, but I think you remember those days. I do. I'll never forget them for as long as I live. Everyday, my team and I worked overtime at the local hospital trying to save the lives of those who were caught in the gangs' territorial squabbles.

"Our police force were made up of men like Yotsuba. He was a tough bastard," and he nodded to the Police Chief, "and he made a name for himself even among the gangs back then. Iron-Staff Yotsuba, that's what they called him. Screw with him and you'll be singing like a girl for the rest of your sorry life."

Misato and the rest tried their best to hide their smiles. They failed miserably. Kiba knew how to calm the chief, convince the city council representative, and give an explanation all in one go. A good man to have as a friend when navigating rough waters, they agreed unanimously.

"But I digress, Daisho-san," Kiba added, "You want to know as to why we cannot catch the Kiyamachi Slayer or this copycat that butchered those high school students yesterday. I can tell you why, but before I go there, I want you to answer me - truthfully - this one question.

"Can you remember the Purge?"

City Council Representative Daisho tried to look calm, but the way that the Police Chief's head shot up and the nearly imperceptible shiver that shook his frame made him realise that there were still things that could scare the hardened officer - and that unnerved the councilman. The next words that left his mouth only added to the latter's unease.

"Kiba-san, are you saying..."

"Yes, I am. Remember the Vermillion Knives gang? Those misfits who worked as the Red Lotus Triad's footsoldiers?" the Chief Forensics Officer asked.

Police Chief Yotsuba nodded.

"Those children that our boys brought in the night before were killed in exactly the same fashion. I don't know who killed them, but I do know that there is no one on Earth who has the strength to do what has been done to them."

"You cannot honestly expect me to believe..." City Council Representative Daisho started to cut in.

"Daisho," Kiba said, his voice sharp, an indication that the normally patient man was on the verge of losing his temper, "My patience is running out. Do not make me regard you as an idiot, because you are not. And do not, for a minute, think I am lying. I value my job and I have my pride. If you think I'm lying, I can bring you down to the morgue and show you the bodies. As you clearly think that you have the answer, you can explain to the parents of those children what killed them."

The other man could not reply.

"You and everyone in this room may think me crazy. You may think that I am losing my hold on reality - but the facts are right before all of us. I am willing to stake my credibility and reputation on these very words I will tell you now.

"The Kiyamachi Slayer and the copycat may very well not be human."

Once again, Misato saw Daisho open his mouth, his sour expression clearly indicating what he thought of Kiba's deduction. But, to everyone's surprise, he asked one question that made the Chief Forensics Officer smile, "Do you have proof? _**Real**_ proof?"

Kiba nodded, "Finally, you ask the right question. We will be bringing the parents to the morgue as soon as they get here. There, you can see for yourself. And if by some unforeseen event that something happens to the bodies...I will turn in my resignation."

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City Police Morque, Kyoto General Hospital, Japan, Thursday, 23rd September 1999, 1240 hrs**_

Kyoto General Hospital had a wing reserved for the city police's Forensics Department, and its access was restricted save to those with the proper clearance. Until the city government received enough funds for the new police headquarters they had earmarked for construction over two years ago, the General Hospital would double as the Police Forensic Department's headquarters. Kiato Senkaku had served as a police officer for over 5 years but he knew or had met most of the people on the force.

The girl that was walking towards him was too young to be on the force and her clothing was most definitely not part of its dress code. She wore a bustier, a pair of tight trousers, boots and a trenchcoat. A _shinai_ bag was slung over one shoulder. Her long, silver-amethyst hair was pulled up in a long ponytail that swayed with every step she took.

Kiato could not help but briefly admire the grace in which the girl moved, before he moved in to intercept her. The one and only girlfriend he had had been during his University days, and that one had cheated on him several times before he found out. After that, Kiato found it difficult to get into a relationship. Maybe he could get this girl to go out with him after his shift was over...

Kiato cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry, _ojou-san_, but this is a restricted area. How was it that...?"

The girl turned her eyes on him, and it was only then did Kiato see how red they were. He was paralysed not only by the colour of her eyes, which were like rubies, but by the emotion in them. The girl raised a gloved hand, and placed it over his heart, before pushing gently, "Shh..."

Kiato was briefly confused by this gesture before he felt his legs suddenly give way and silent darkness overwhelm his senses.

Lilith stepped over the body of the unconscious policeman and threw open the doors of the morgue. Several bodies laid on metal gurneys, shrouded in white, identification tags tied around their ankles. A brief look at each of them told the female devil that these were the victims of a car accident. Areil had told her that the autopsy had yet to be conducted, which meant that the bodies would already have been taken out. Clearly, this had not been the case. Lilith fished out her cellphone, and called her brother.

"Areil," Lilith said, looking at the rows of freezers in irritation, "it's me. The bodies have not been taken out of the freezers. Can you tell me where their bodies are stored? You don't have a moment...I need them now." and her voice sharpened as she heard the familiar sound of a woman in the throes of ecstasy, "What is this? Brother, you can have fun AFTER we've done what we came here to do. What...? You'd better make it quick, then!"

The female devil snarled in fury. She needed to know who exactly was the Ebon Legion Bloodguard that had come to Kyoto. It would allow her - and Sophia - to better deal with this bloodthirsty monster. Lilith had half a mind not to tell Sophia. If the Ebon Legion Bloodguard raped and killed that whore of God, it would remove the one obstacle that would allow Lilith's master to incarnate himself onto the mortal plane.

And then...they will march on Heaven once more, rip down the celestial city's mighty gates, and cast God and His servants from the stars forever. What would follow after that magnificent victory as the Morningstar took God's throne would be a grand and glorious age, one that will be as eternal as the Tyrant...but that was if they could prevent the more nihilistic Legions from having their way.

Her cellphone ringed once more, and Lilith flipped it open, "Yes? You have it...? Good. Tell me. 31-A, B, C and D. 35-C. 36-D. 37-A. All right. I will deal with it. Meet me at the school. Which one...? Of all the...my school, imbecile. All right, see you there. And Areil...make sure you don't leave this one pregnant, all right?"

Lilith ended the call, but not before her brother's voice could be heard unleashing an avalanche of curses. Lowering her bag on a nearby table, the female devil went about removing the bodies from the freezers and setting them on the floor. Lilith knew each one of the victims of yesterday night's murder. They were all her schoolmates.

Of the five, three were Makoto's classmates. The petite, lively Minase Yukiko had clearly been violated before she was torn to pieces. She had been the last to die, but had gone down struggling. Hayashiba Kuro, Makoto's classmate and his friend in the kendo club, had gone down fighting as well. Lilith saw that the wounds that killed him were, like Yukiko's, on the front. The Arima siblings had tried to run, but did not get far. He couldn't have caught them, as their bodies had been found not far from where they had encountered the beast.

_'A Paralysis Charm,' _Lilith realised, _'This Bloodguard may be a bloodthirsty monster - but he is an intelligent one.'_

She straddled the naked body of Minase, and lowered her head to the terrible wounds that had killed her. Lilith licked the wound that stretched from rib to sundered breast, and her eyes widened. This...this was impossible! It couldn't be! By the Morningstar's glorious halo, it couldn't be! Lilith moved quickly to Kuro's body and did the same, and spat a curse in a tongue that cause the shadows in the room to darken and the lights to flicker.

If there was any doubt as to who the Bloodguard was, there was none left now.

Lilith withdrew a small vial, uncocked it, and spread a generous dose of the liquid within on all of her schoolmates' foreheads, hearts and arms. When she was done, the female devil stood up and left the morgue, pausing only briefly to kiss two fingers and blew it to her departed schoolmates.

The bodies in the morgue erupted into flames.

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City Central, Japan, Thursday, 23rd September 1999, 1240 hrs**_

"Ahh, Kyoto City," a silver-haired girl said cheerfully to her compatriots, "I've always wanted to come here. Good food, good entertainment...and sexy guys by the dozen!" before blowing a kiss to a small group of University students who could not help but stare at the lovely foreigner as she and her companions walked past.

"We're not here to enjoy, Tabris," her pink-haired compatriot said, "We have a job to do. After we're done, you can screw every soul in this city, but until then, it would be in our best interests to ensure that we do not fail."

The silver-haired girl, Tabris, turned her crimson eyes on her companion, her expression playful, "Honestly, Zeruel, you're such a stick-in-the-mud. You don't know how to reap the bounty of our harvest. If I had the time, I would teach you, but I doubt that someone like you would ever appreciate anything."

Zeruel glared at Tabris, "Do you care for nothing but your own pleasures, Tabris? Is there nothing in that head of yours but sex and fighting?"

"I do what I please, Zeruel," Tabris replied haughtily, "Just as you do. Just as I enjoy 'rolling in the hay', as you so crudely put it, you enjoy the complexities of leading your army on the battlefields and crushing your enemies."

"Enough, both of you," their third companion said, causing both girls to fall silent, "We are, as Zeruel said, here to do what was commanded of us, Tabris. It is of little concern as to what you wish to do after our task is done."

"And you," Tabris scowled, "have neglected to tell us what exactly this 'task' is, Lileath."

The cyan-haired, red-eyed girl met her companions' irritated looks coolly, "Forgive me, but I thought you had both already figured out what our task was."

Lileath's emotionless tone raised both her companions' hackles, and Zeruel was half-tempted to slam her fist into the cyan-haired girl's jaw. Tabris's annoyance, however, was evident in her reply that neither her nor Zeruel were of the Fourth House, and could not possibly have known the instructions given to Lileath by the Bloody Angel. The Exalted had a reputation as fearsome as that of the Title-Divested One, and neither Tabris nor Zeruel wanted to get in the Bloody Angel's bad books at any point in time. He had, after all, crushed the previous holder of the same title in a titanic duel that had wrecked the Arena of Ascension.

"We're here," Lileath replied, her emotionless gaze directing her companions' to that of a teenager who stood across the road,"to take the mortal, Shinji Ikari, as payment for the bargain that his father, Gendo Ikari, had made with us over a decade ago. As we are the ones who have aided Gendo Ikari become what he is today, the Bloody Angel has decreed that Gendo Ikari's son is ours by right. What we do to him...is up to our own discretion."

Tabris blinked, unable to believe what she had heard. It was not the nature of the instructions that the Bloody Angel had given - it was his way to reward the loyal - but the emotion in icy Lileath's voice that surprised her. There was a terrible, hungry lust in Lileath's voice. Tabris looked at Zeruel, and was equally shocked. Zeruel's eyes, too, had that look of fierce desire. What was it about this puny, scrawny mortal that so aroused her compatriots' lusts anyway?

The silver-haired girl turned her attention back to Shinji. He was plain and lean to the point of being scrawny. The clothes he wore saw to it that he would not stand out, a sign that the teenager was an introvert. Many of Tabris's lovers had been rich, well-built, and could last longer and pleasure her better than this...boy.

Her scrutiny of Shinji was halted when the teenager looked up, and blushed furiously when he realised that three very beautiful girls were looking at him. Tabris felt something deep inside erupt, pooling in a fiery heat in her groin. His eyes were perhaps the one characteristic of him that appealed to her - they were of a shade of blue that reminded her of Heaven's endless, perfect skies. Skies she would never see again after the Unholy hosts were cast down.

Tabris smiled, and blew Shinji a kiss that caused the latter to blush all the more, before she turned and left, understanding why Zeruel and Lileath had reacted the way they had.

Shinji Ikari had a pure soul - a prize that few devils would pass over.

And they were going to enjoy every delicious moment as they taught the younger Ikari things most men - and women - could only dream of. Now, all they needed was time.

**X X X X X X**

_**Kyoto City sewers, Kyoto City, Japan, Thursday, 23rd September 1999, 1240 hrs**_

He liked the silent darkness.

The voices would fall silent, and his wild rage would fall dormant, if only briefly. He could only remember the fierce darkness that surged in his soul on that day that seemed like only yesterday. He remembered his beautiful, bat-winged, white-haired, inhuman mother who had given birth to him. He remembered her haunting songs and the admiration in which she spoke of the Exalted who had spilt his seed into her womb, which saw to his birth.

He knew who his father was, and feared his wrath. For even though his mind was clouded by madness of lust, rage and hunger, he knew the extent at which his sire and his half-siblings would scour Creation to ensure that vengeance would come crashing down on his head.

He remembered his mother, writhing in pain in his mighty arms as he violated her again and again and again, before ripping out her windpipe as the voices in his mind commanded him to. And before he fled, he violated her corpse again. The feel of female flesh, of their writhing beneath him, delighted the voices, and he could hear - no, _feel_ - the ecstasy and pleasure that writhed like a living serpent in his soul.

He had fled into the welcoming arms of the Ebon Legion, and had been relegated to the African theatre. His commander, a female Fiend who delighted in destabilising the entire region through adroit political maneuvering through her pawns and audacious assassinations, had kept him on a tight leash - but delighted in unleashing him when the situation called for it. She knew how to please both him and the voices.

He was her finest assassin, if not the most unpredictable one, in her service. His claws had tasted the blood of every enemy she had sent him to kill. Life had been good. She had rewarded him generously for his loyalty. But, this time, he had been forced to take leave and come to this city, half-a-world away, as his voices had adamantly demanded that he go there. His commander had been irritated, but she had given him leave to go - with the condition that he return within seven days.

A dry, raspy chuckle echoed in the tunnel, "You cannot escape, little soul. You are mine, mine, mine. The voices say that you are the Chosen. The voices say that should I feed on your soul and devour your flesh, I will grow all the stronger. Protected you are, but they cannot save you."

Claws left their furry sheaths, and he regarded them with malicious glee, "Your protectors, I will violate too. Ah yes...their screams will be sweet, the feel of their flesh against mine an aphrodisiac that will keep my eternal companions quiet, oh yes..."

"We are of one blood, my sweet, sweet, little half-brother...but you have none of our father's powers. Oh, I won't complain...I never complain, have I, darling?" and turned to his invisible companion, and giggled insanely, "Tonight? We have to do this tonight? Of course, my darling, of course I'll do it...why shouldn't I? It pleases all of us, doesn't it?"

He turned in another direction, "His name...? Ah yes, we can't have a face without a name can we?" and his gleaming eyes narrowed in a serpentine fashion, "Yes, yes, he's the one we're all seeking," and the face of a young man with blue-grey eyes and a lively smile took shape in his mind, "...my half-brother, Kusakabe Makoto..."

_**X X X X X X**_

_**Kyoto City, Maria's Cafe, Japan, Thursday, 23rd September 1999, 1330 hrs**_

Areil could not believe his ears. Never had he thought that it would be this particular Bloodguard. Renowned even in the other legions for his sadism as he was for his excellent skills in stalking and assassination, Anselm Spiritblade was a blight upon the family he had turned his considerable skills on. His exploits had had his father, recently returned to Hell, enraged beyond all measure, declare a blood-hunt on him. Anselm had fled into the waiting arms of the Ebon Legion's slaughterers where his father could not touch him without antagonising the Legion Lords.

Anselm was, in Areil's humblest opinion, a sick fuck that didn't deserve to live. He was a weakling who had let his Beast overtake him, something his half-siblings fought long and hard to prevent from happening. Some of them had turned to the other side, hoping that the Creator or his servants would be able to wipe the taint clean from their souls - or chain it, at the very least. It surprised Areil - and no few Fallen - that the Bloody Angel permitted his children to do as they wish in regards to fighting their Beast.

_'Endeavour to fight the enemy on your own terms' _had long been the maxim of the Crimson Legion, and the Bloody Angel applied it in every decision he made. A far cry, Areil thought, from his predecessor, Altima, who was more prone to let her sword do her talking for her. But, really, what could you expect from one of Archduke Abaddon's Champions anyway?

For any born with Spiritblade blood in his or her veins to succumb to the Beast was a death sentence in more ways than one, and the only person to be spared its unholy touch was, to Areil's knowledge, the object of his sister's affections. The devil turned his attention back to his fuming sibling, who had the look of one ready to turn the entire cafe into rubble, and everyone and everything in it to charcoal.

The fact that he was sitting in front of a potential explosion was not lost on anyone. Several of the cafe's patrons - especially its employees - could not help shooting them worried looks. Should Lilith explode, the first person most likely to get injured was the person sitting in front of her - namely, him. Common sense told Areil that he had best stay far away from his sister until her temper cooled - but that was not likely to happen anytime soon.

Not unless some miracle saw to Anselm Spiritblade being slain by the multitude of enemies he had made in the years he had been alive. Which led to the big question - what was that monster doing here? Anselm was, from what they both knew, never far from his commander, who had strict instructions to keep an eye on him. Either this was a sanctioned mission by the Ebon Legion's regional commander in Africa, or Anselm had come here on his own.

Areil's handphone started to vibrate, and he quickly flipped it open. Lilith looked at him with an eyebrow raised, a silent question as to the identity of the caller. Areil raised one hand, listening to the speaker on the other end, before smiling and terminating the call with a brief word of thanks and a promise to bring the other party out for a drink when this is over.

"That was Asamu," Areil said, "The back up I asked him to bring down to Kyoto has arrived."

"Your 'back-up'?" Lilith asked, suspicious, "Areil, do you plan to...?"

"Make a mess of this mission?" Areil finished, frowning, "No, I'm not. I am not so crazy as to defy an order given by our Prince, but I'll be equally crazy if I let this _**particular**_ fucking Bloodguard run amok through the city. I'll take him down myself, but I need you to do me a favour."

"And that is?"

"Keep an eye on Makoto until my friends and I have taken Anselm down. And keep a _**very**_ low profile. Act only when needed. Can you do that?"

Lilith locked gazes with her brother, looking for any hint of duplicity in them. Areil had lied to her before, and there had been incidents where she barely managed to escape from the enemy. Would he betray her? Was there anything that would give him reason to? What would he gain if he did? Who would protect him if he did so?

The last question was quickly answered, and it was one that had her nodding her assent to Areil's request. No one would protect Areil if he chose to put her and the mission she had been tasked with in jeopardy. The moment her superiors got word of Areil's betrayal, the Pandaemonium Guard - as well as the Bloody Angel's finest Stalkers - would see to it that there was no place in Creation where her treacherous brother could hide.

"Areil, there is something I must ask you before you go..." Lilith said.

"Go on."

Lilith hesitated, before asking, "Areil, tell me...what are the chances of Kusakabe Makoto inheriting the full scope of his father's powers?"

Areil stared at his sister. Why had she asked this all of a sudden? Prior to their mission, the two of them had read everything about Makoto, and had spent several weeks observing him before they put their plans into motion. He was a normal teenager no different from others his age. He had no powers, nothing that even showed he was a child of the Bloody Angel. Not unless...

"Lilith," Areil found his voice shaking, "Why are you asking me this? Did he...? No...if he did, your school would look like the Arena of Ascension when his father killed the previous Bloody Angel."

"Just answer the question, Areil," Lilith said.

"Less than five percent."

"Five percent?"

"Makoto is already long past the age when the child of an Exalt should Ascend. Believe me, if he does Ascend, every supernatural that lives in this city will know."

**X X X X X X **

_**Kyoto Cemetery, Kyoto City, Japan, Thursday, 23rd September, 1400 hrs**_

Though it was afternoon, the weather was as cold as if it were still in the early hours of the morning. The woman's long, copper hair had been bound in a thick ponytail and she had dressed warmly. Saya Mikage had finally managed to get away from her restaurant, but had to return soon. It was unbecoming that the owner and manager of a business should be loafing when her employees were hard at work. She looked down at the gravestones, beneath which laid the bodies of her sister and her brother-in-law.

Her nephew had cleaned the gravestones and had set out the flowers and gifts. The incense had burned out hours ago, but Saya could smell the faint but familiar scent of the same incense her sister used to burn in the aftermath of her intimacies with her brother-in-law. Saya chuckled - no doubt that had been the gift of old Hojo Katsura, owner of the Springtime Flower Shop.

Always, for as long as Saya could remember, she had always spoke to her sibling's and her brother-in-law's spirits about how things were. But, not today. Today, Saya Mikage would speak what she had kept in her heart for over a decade, ever since she saw a foreigner asking her if her restaurant had a spot open for a new employee. She remembered that day, and the days after that, as if it were yesterday.

Why was it that the best memories sometimes turned out to be the most painful? Saya had gone out drinking only three days before to dull the wounds they caused, and would have ended up in a love hotel had it not been for her nephew's teacher. Was she so desperate to have someone love her that anyone would do? Saya knew that there were no few women who were like that, and the pain that they felt forced them to reach out for something, anything at all, to dull the anguish they felt within.

_'Human beings are fragile, Saya-chan. It's what makes them human. Strength comes not from losing one's humanity; it's keeping it in the face of a cold, cynical, jaded world that doesn't give a damn.'_

"I'm not here to speak to you, nii-san," Saya spoke, "I hope you don't mind if my sister and I had a heart-to-heart talk. So, stay away if you know what's good for you. The fact that you're a ghost now will not save the beating I will give you when I see you in the afterlife. Shihana-chan...I think you know what I'm going to say, but I think it is best I say it anyway. I should have said it all those years ago, should have challenged you and your friends when some of you started staking a claim to Reiha-kun.

"I'm jealous, Shihana. Jealous and envious. How was it that he chose you when I was the one who met him first? I would daresay that you stole him from me, Shihana, and I could almost hate you for doing so. I remember our High School days; you were our school's princess, back then," and she laughed briefly, "Princess. You were nothing but a troublemaker, onee-san. You played truant, smoked, got into fights...and yet, you captured the hearts of so many. Many guys wanted to date you, and though you did go out with them, the relationships never lasted beyond three months.

"The one that lasted the longest was Narumi-kun. I remember how you and our classmate, Chitose, competed for his affections. Why did you give him up, nee-san?"

Despite that question, Saya knew the reason why. The copper-haired woman remembered how her golden-haired sibling had smiled sadly when she had asked, before the former said that the warm young man that they had grown up with would be better off with someone who really cared for him. And though her older sister did not regret her decision, it did not change the fact that she had cried like a little girl that day.

Saya remembered another guy that they had met when they entered Kyoto University together. He had tried to get into her sister's panties, but the latter had proved herself neither innocent nor stupid. Her friends in the Celestial Dragons told her of their experiences, and her sister had taken them to heart.

And it made Saya wonder if it was her friends that had made her sister choose the man who would become the latter's husband. The fact that the other girls in her sister's gang took a liking to the _gaijin_ when they first met was not missed by the copper-haired woman. But, the first meeting was what changed everything. And now, over a decade later, the results spoke for itself. No doubt, much later, her sister's friends - and their families - would come to pay their respects. The Autumn Equinox Festival had been the same day that her sister and her friends had met Shigami Reiha for the first time.

Maybe, just maybe, the same reason that her sister chose to break up with Narumi Kotaro so that he could be with Chitose Masaki was the same one she had for not staking a claim to the man who eventually became her brother-in-law.

"I envy you, nee-san. Really, I do. You have everything I wanted, and ever wished for. Your friends, too. But, not me. I'm not like you...but someday, someday...I hope I can be. Goodnight, nee-san. Give nii-san my regards, won't you?" she said, stroking the petals of the flowers her nephew had laid on the grave. Someday, she hoped her nephew would give her some.

Saya sighed, and pulled out a cellphone from her purse. For today - just for today - she wanted some time alone. And maybe, if he was up to it, some time with her nephew as well.

_**To be continued...**_


	11. Confrontations, Part 1

_**Angel Halo - Time of Judgment**_

_**Chapter 6, Part 1: Confrontations**_

_**Written by Spiritblade**_

_**Author's Note: **_Okay, this is it...the beginning of everything. I've built up everything, so let's get ready for it all to come crashing down. This is the chapter you asked for, Wesley T., where we start the music, draw steel, and rumble.

Heaven or Hell.

Let's Rock.

This entire story is Round (or Draft) 1. And rest assured, I'll make Round 2 even better. Quality work - and nothing less. And yes, this chapter, and the next, is about the other characters in the story. They're not important to the main outcome, but the old phrase that the actions of men and women can change the world they live in.

_**X X X X X X**_

_**New York City, East Central, USA, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 0550 hrs**_

Even when night fell on the metropolis of New York, it brought no end to the chaos that had consumed it when the earthquake had struck three days ago. In the quiet night air, the sounds of fierce gunbattles and the angry shouts of those who fought them could be heard all the clearer. To old Thomas 'Winchester' Thymes, a veteran of the Vietnam War, it reminded him of the hard days he and his buddies had fought against the commies.

And like those old days, when the shit hit the fan, they knew where to gather and hunker down to wait for the choppers to arrive. But, even though it's been 72 goddamn hours since the hammer came down - and it came down hard - they had yet to see the cavalry coming. Good thing that everybody in the platoon had stocked up well. Food, medical supplies, guns...they had enough to last them for a month.

But, after seeing what they had just seen, Thomas hoped that they could last a week. He was not an easy man to scare - none of the 8-odd guys that came from different platoons from the 12th Infantry Battalion were - but he was seriously freaked out. Back then in 'Nam, you catch a gook and you shoot him, he's a dead gook. But Thomas had shot one gook, and he didn't stay down! He had to pump him so full of bullets that the guy looked like swiss cheese on two legs - and the fucker still wouldn't drop! That was when Thomas saw the fangs and the predatory look; whatever that...thing was, it wasn't human. But the fire axe it wielded was still deadly.

Had his buddy, Johnny 'Leggo' Watson, not rushed in and set...the thing on fire, Thomas would have ended up dead. There was no body after the fire went out; it had been reduced to ashes. Now, Thomas and his buddies were down-to-earth sorts, and to see this kind of creepy shit brought back stories that were used by boy scouts to scare each other to sleep.

And that was not the end of it. The whole city had seriously gone bat-fuck crazy. Thomas and his buddies had seen things out of a B-grade horror flick. Problem was, these weren't guys or girls doing some shit called 'cosplay'. They were for real, and they were playing for keeps. The veteran readied his gun and moved through the streets, his eyes and ears sharp. He was playing pointman for the main group, consisting of his friends and both his and their families.

Thomas was thankful that age had not taken away or dulled his senses. More than one guy owed him his life and now, over twenty years later, they were what would ensure he would get everyone out of the city in one piece.

Then he froze...and held out of hand, fingers spread before clenching them.

The main group of 15 to 20 people several yards behind him paused, seeing the signal to stop. Eyes darted about, looking into alleyways, windows and rooftops of nearby buildings. A crash made Thomas whirl, finger on trigger, on the source of the sound. A body had been thrown down, violated and torn.

An instant later, Thomas's grand-daughter, Elaine, screamed at the sight of the body. It was her school-mate, Kimberly. The Vietname veteran rushed over, and turned as white as his compatriots. The girl had clearly been raped - brutally - before she was murdered. Both her thighs were drenched in blood and semen, and the expression on the girl's face brought back memories that the old veteran did not wish to remember.

For a brief, unsettling moment, Thomas did not see a blonde girl lying on the cold, cracked pavement. He saw a dark-haired Asian girl, her legs spread, shivering, as her dark eyes looked at him with pain and hate. A sin he had committed, and one which he never forgave himself for. The two of them stood amidst a burning village, the air thick with screams and gunfire.

"Grandpa..." a voice spoke, and Thomas blinked, the image fading, "What's wrong?"

The moment his grandson had spoken, his long-buried instincts started howling, and he shouted a warning just as a monstrous howl was voiced in challenge. Almost a dozen rifles were raised in the direction of the sound. What they saw made them freeze. Though it was dark, there was no doubt that the form that stood atop the apartment complex was huge. Eyes blazed like molten steel, filled with wrath and insane lust.

"What is God's name is that?" Billy, one of his former army friends, whispered. His voice was shaking. Thomas didn't blame him. He was scared as well. Whatever that thing was, it definitely wasn't human - and it was armed with a big-ass sword that looked like it could cut a man in half.

The figure leapt down from the rooftop, landing with a thunderous crash. If there was any doubt that the thing was human, there was none now. No human could jump down six stories and live! Thomas and his friends trained their gun-barrels on the figure. Up close, they saw that the figure was clad in a suit of armour, ornate and adorned with symbols that made everyone dizzy just looking at it. The monstrous, blood-drenched sword was clutched in a mutated, three-taloned arm almost twice as thick as its normal one.

Bloodlust radiated from the armoured giant like a miasma. It turned its head upwards briefly. Thomas and Kimberly followed its gaze, and both their eyes widened. Standing there, on the roof accompanied by three other figures, was another person they knew. It was Elaine's schoolmate, Watson.

And his voice, though soft, was heard by everyone.

"Hello, Elaine. How nice of you to drop by..."

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, West Central, USA, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 0600 hrs**_

The woman lowered her bloody lance, her blue eyes calmly assessing the situation, a playful smile on her lips. It was amusing to think that these lowly servants of the Earth Mother believed that they could best her. They were more wary now, especially since one of their own had been slain in a matter of seconds, his Charms no proof against the human's deadly lance. They readied their klaives, ready to spring should the woman let down her guard for even an instant. The were-wolves barked and snapped their jaws, hoping that their actions would intimidate the human female, but it was clear that she was not the least bit frightened.

She was not like other prey. Those would scream and soil themselves at the sight of them, or run away as their legs could take them - but not this woman. She was a Cross Warrior, a soldier of the Sky God. The markings on her clothes told the werewolves that she was one of their Honoured, a veteran of many battles against the shadowy beings that preyed on the human race. Her powers easily surpassed that of the pack's shaman...but it was the **manner** of the powers she used that made them uneasy.

They had good reason to be. The Cross Warriors never used Black Charms, period. It was against everything they stood for. Was this one a renegade like their Black Whirlwind cousins? The pack leader, Silver-in-Shadows, a massive werewolf with thick streaks of silver in its dark fur, glanced briefly at his fallen pack-mate. Knife-in-Blood had been arrogant and careless. Yes, the Cross Warriors were human and a single well-placed blow from any were-beast could kill even the strongest of them, he had told the younger werewolf. But, he had added, letting down your guard was perhaps the worst mistake any were-beast could make. Centuries of fighting against supernaturals whose existence was inimical to human life had seen to it that the Cross Warriors knew how to inflict harm on them.

He looked at the weapon that had killed his packmate. He found it familiar, but where he had seen it, he couldn't remember. The ornate scrollwork on the shimmering blade was identical to the one that had almost killed him over a decade ago. He felt the wound caused by it ache, even though his tribe's shamans had ensured that they had stripped the corruption that had caused it to fester years ago.

The woman turned the lance on him, and the scrollwork glowed with an unholy radiance. Silver-in-Shadows gave a strangled roar of pain as his wound suddenly tore open, and he felt the eyes of his packmates on him. He could sense their confusion and the burgeoning sense of fear that they may well have bitten off more than they could chew. This human would make their Black Whirlwind cousins look tame in comparison.

"It seems, Silver-in-Shadows," the female Cross Warrior said in the tongue of the _Garou_, "that Soul-Striker remembers you. I see that you have not heeded my lord's command to cease your hunt of humanity as you should have. His sparing your life is a mistake I will soon remedy."

Soul-Striker?! That means that this woman was...! Memories of a beautiful woman with raven wings looking up at him with cruel glee as he was impaled on the end of her lance returned like a tidal wave. This woman was a Bane, a powerful servant of the Corruptor Dragon.

The followers of the Sky God, however, would call this being a demon.

"I know you now! You're that monster's servant...!" Silver-in-Shadows growled, recognising the woman at last. Though her features were human, it was the same face that he had seen over a decade ago when Silver-in-Shadows had led the Vengeful Talons pack as they stalked and slew the enemies of the Earth Mother in the Middle East. During that time, this woman had fought by the side of one of the Corruptor Dragon's mightiest champions - the Bloody-Handed Spirit.

"Care to look in the mirror, mutt?" the woman said, "Last time I looked through the book, raping women, turning men and children into hamburgers and eating infants **are** the trademarks of real monsters."

"The human race has hunted me and my kin for far too long, **demon**. The time has come to put them in their place," one of Silver-in-Shadow's packmates snarled, "We must seek out the Corruptor Dragon's Gatekeepers before they can bring him into this world. We must deny him victory, lest all Creation be reduced to a nightmare. Time is running short..."

"For you!" the woman said, as she summoned up several simulacrums, and each leapt towards a werewolf with a speed beyond anything the werewolves had seen. The werewolves quickly activated their fetishes, calling upon the bound spirits within them to aid and protect them, praying that they had what it took to could cut down this adversary. The ability to conjure simulacrums was one they knew. Their Asian _hengeyokai_ cousins had Disciplines, Charms and fetishes that allowed them to duplicate themselves in the event they were outnumbered. The simulacrums were autonomous and intelligent, possessing the skills and reflexes of the original. The only shortcoming was that they could not last long.

Something told Silver-in-Shadows that that might not be the case with the rebel angel he and his packmates were facing. He wasn't wrong. And minutes later, when a second fallen angel leapt into the fray, the werewolves knew that they were in trouble.

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, USA, National Guard security cordon, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 0650 hrs**_

The security cordon was a hive of activity. Police officers, National Guard soldiers and rescue services milled about the various tents that had been set up to help coordinate their efforts to get those who were trapped in the war-torn disaster areas of New York City out. Captain Karl Jackson sat on the steps leading up to a neaby shopping mall that looked like it had been struck by an artillery shell. He had hung out here with the rest of the guys back when he was still in University years back, before deciding to drop out and join the Marines. His parents had been disappointed in his choice of career, hoping that he would become a doctor or a lawyer. Karl had found life in the service..._familiar_, for lack of a better term. He had never come back to New York ever since his enlistment, but the sight of its once familiar streets turned into...this was painful to behold.

Medical tents lined the roads, and in each, doctors and surgeons saw to the injured and wounded. Orderlies saw to those whose injuries were less serious, while others helped rushed those whose injuries were serious to the waiting taxis and ambulances that waited nearby to ferry them to the hospitals.

Karl looked at the situation report in his hand. Law and order had totally broken down. Gunfights and looting was widespread, and every redneck, punk and hoodlam with a score to settle had broken out the guns and knives and blowing the ass off anyone who so much as looked at them cross-eyed.

Karl took out his cigarette holder, took out a stick and lit it. He blew out a great cloud of smoke. The marine captain and his platoon had been on three evacuation missions ever since his company had touched down in New York, and their first foray into the city had already claimed the lives of five of his troopers. The second had been a near-fiasco when 2 squads of the 3rd platoon were caught in a crossfire between two well-armed rival gangs. Utterly unwilling to abandon the civilians they had been escorting, the squads had put up a hell of a fight before reinforcements came in and sent the street rats scurrying. Nonetheless, that engagement had killed four marines and wounded six more.

The third debacle was one involving the 2 squads of the 4th platoon, and that was the one that had left the marine captain disturbed. Karl knew the men that led those squads. The fact that they lost their composure in the midst of combat was something that made him wonder what they have seen that could have caused such a reaction.

Karl took out his cigarette holder, took out a stick and lit it. What did they see there? The looks and testimonies testimonies of the men that managed to get out of south-central New York told him that - whatever it was they saw there - it had scared the shit out of them. Karl had led a squad down to the place where the men had seen...whatever the hell it was they saw. The marine captain blew out a great cloud of smoke.

When he got there, he realised that the decision his sergeants had made to get whoever they could out of the area had been a prudent one. The entire district looked like as if it had been carpet-bombed. The neighbourhood park had been burnt to a cinder and the buildings nearby looked like as if someone had taken a wrecking ball to them. The bodies of men, women and children littered the street, a clear indication to the marine captain that the **things** that his sergeants had mentioned had been uncaring who stood between them and their target.

Karl had never been the superstitious sort. He was a realist. Ghosts and spirits were the byproduct of an overactive imagination. Werewolves and vampires belonged on the silver screen and in the storybooks. None of them had been real - until today. The marine captain blew out another cloud of smoke. His sergeants - and their men - had not lied. The destruction he had seen had clearly not been caused by human hands. Ghosts or not, vampires and werewolves, it did not matter. He was a United States Army Marine, and he's not gonna back off if the freaks and fangs want a fight. There were innocent people in there, and he wasn't going down till he got every last one out of disaster central.

"Captain?"

Karl looked up to see his Chief Comms. Officer, Lieutenant Patricia Hasley, walking towards him, "Yeah?"

"Major Caine is one the wire. He wants to talk to you."

The Marine captain rolled his eyes at the mention of his superior, but got to his feet all the same. It was no secret in the company that he disliked the geek that led people who were better than him. With his spectacles and his lanky build, Major Caine Whitlock was the image of a geek who made it good. But unlike the techno-nerds and bookworms, Caine's passion was war. His office and home held almost every treatise on it, with some books dating back to the time of Alexander the Great.

"Any idea what the geek wants?" Karl asked.

Patricia shrugged, "No idea, but our CTO is in here."

Karl halted briefly. Captain Frederick Sarles was the Chief Tactical Officer for the 17th Marine, and was a harder man than the geek. Closer to Commissar than CTO, Frederick had been in the service longer than even Karl, and had fought in Korea and Vietnam. Prior to his transfer to the Marine Corps, Frederick had been a Paratrooper. Getting into the thick of things was almost a hobby for him and annoying him was akin to putting a loaded gun to one's head; Frederick had been known to put down his superiors - even the geek - should they step over the line.

"What is he doing here?"

"That," Patricia said, indicating the well-built veteran that stood in front of the command tent, "is something you have to ask him."

Karl looked skyward, praying to God that the 50-year old CTO had not come with the intention of turning him into a shit pile.

**X X X X X X**

_**Middle East, Golan Heights, Israel, 24th September 1999, 2340 hrs**_

The silence was such that one could easily be deafened by it, Wesley thought as he steered the jeep towards its destination. His Disciplines allowed him to see in the dark, and prior to departing the town where Morrigan had her contacts, he had instructed that the lights be taped up. He did not want to run into military patrols or, even worse, the Inquisition. While he could deal with the former, the latter would most likely shoot first and ask questions later.

He glanced briefly to his passengers. Sings-the-Dawn sat quietly next to him. The quiet pulse of power told the ex-Cardinal that the shaman was communing with the land, and the disturbed look on his face told him that he felt the corruption that millennias and the defeat of Evil could not remove. Rasha, the young Avatar who had searched him out, and Jeannette Dover, the daughter of the man who had broken the seals that had kept the Evil chained, slept behind. The former rested her head on the lap of the latter.

"This land..." Sings-the-Dawn spoke finally after hours of silence, "it remembers. A great war took place here, long before this country's oldest civilisations ever took root. Myths and legends are a poor substitute for the truth, but mortal minds cannot comprehend the powers brought to bear in a war between spirits..." and he paused for several minutes, "...and it remembers you as well. It remembers the time you and your comrades came here to take the sword of a great chieftain of the dark spirits. It whispers softly of your battles fought in the name of the world you have sworn to defend."

Wesley did not reply. To come back here...after so long, brought back memories he didn't want to remember. It had been a chaotic time, and the entire region was on the edge of another war. Not that it was any better now, but things have taken a darker turn than before. When the seals of the Black Cathedral had been broken two decades ago, the Evil sealed within the Church hungered for blood and destruction. Now, there was a coiling anticipation...as if it was waiting for something - or someone.

"Wesley...?" a sleepy voice spoke.

Rasha was awake.

"Yes?"

"Can we stop? I really need to go to the toilet..." the dark-haired girl said.

Wesley and Sings-the-Dawn exchanged looks, and the latter shrugged. They needed to stretch their legs and get some food anyway. The moment he stopped the jeep, the other four behind him did likewise. Their occupants got out, glad for the chance to stretch their legs and, like Rasha, make water in the bushes. Wesley took out a thermos and poured himself a cup of hot chocolate. Morrigan Hyral and Silana-Calaster walked up to him. Both women looked very disturbed, and he knew the reason why. They could sense the ageless evil. No doubt, Morrigan's Beast was on edge. It could sense the danger, but could not pinpoint the source.

"It's as if the shadows itself hides an enemy," Silana-Calaster added, "My daughter...and Morrigan's children...they sense it. And they're afraid."

"And they have every right to be, Silana," Wesley replied, looking over their shoulders at where Duran, Fala and Alys-Calaster stood in a circle, talking, "Considering where we are...to not be afraid is to disregard the knowledge that this place is damned. God's army may have won the war, but the dark forces that sleep deep beneath these mountains wait still for the day their master returns to hold court here once more. This is not a place where you can see the evil. This is the place where you can **feel** it."

Wesley took a sip of his drink to calm his nerves and looked up at the towering mountains that surrounded him, silhouetted against the starlit night sky.

"You know, Silana..." Wesley continued, "If I had a choice, I would never come back here, let alone step foot into Israel. Everywhere I turn, I see the events of two decades ago. I saw my friends die before my eyes, one after the other. I succeeded in my mission, but the price is more than I can bear. The Order of St. Michael was cut down not by the Enemy...but by one of our own. The rot had spread so deep within the Church that the only way to purge it was to draw them out."

"A guerilla war..." Morrigan said.

"Yes. But in most guerilla wars, the enemy stood on the other side. He wears the colours of the flag he has sworn allegiance to, even if he serves the enemy in secret to weaken him from within. But not in my war. The enemy wore my colours, swore the same oaths...and had once stood by my side against God's enemies."

"Wesley, are you trying to tell me that the **entire** Order of St. Michael was betrayed?" Morrigan said, her eyes hardening. The female vampire had had contacts within the Church, and had used them to ensure that her man was safe. To hear that the Order had been charged for treason had perplexed her; the Order of St. Michael were as loyal as the Camarilla's Justicars and Archons were to the sect's founders.

Or at least, they had been until the massacre months before...

"Yes. I think you know who was the one who had orchestrated the whole plot."

"I do," Morrigan said, her tone glacial, "Had he not been killed, I would have made sure he would have...eventually."

Silana-Calaster glanced at her companion. She knew Morrigan well enough to know that when she made a promise in that tone of voice, the vampiress would move Heaven and Earth to make it happen. The female were-beast did not blame her; Shateiel had left a permenant mark in the hearts of the women he loved and the children he sired. Even though both of them had been annoyed at the growing relationship between the Japanese exorcist and Shateiel, the way it had ended between them made them appreciate what they had had. Life's joy, Shateiel loved to say, was measured in moments - and they lasted forever.

"Galford," Wesley said heavily, remembering the former Inquisitor-General, "was my friend. The first one I had when I joined the Inquisition after I was discharged from the US Army. I saw things in Vietnam, things I knew were not of this world. Apparently, someone in the Army knew what I saw, sent me for psychiatric evaluation, and booted me out on the lame reason of me being a nut. Galford did not laugh or make fun of me. He told me what they were...and asked me if I wanted to strike these beings down before they brought more grief onto humanity.

"I fought at Galford's side for years. I trusted him. Which is why, when he betrayed me, I asked myself what were the reasons that made him desire my death. What was worth so much more than the brotherhood that we shared? Shateiel told me that men - and women - were easily bought when offered their heart's desire. Few are those who could resist, and those that can were beyond price. There was nothing Evil loved more than a soul that could not be corrupted; these posed a challenge it could not resist."

Wesley paused, realizing that many of his compatriots had surrounded him, listening. Silana-Calaster had started up several fires with her Charms, and her daughter was preparing a meal. A quiet growl in the ex-Cardinal's stomach told him that it would be wise for him to have something to eat. The last time he had a bite was over 12 hours ago.

"But first...let us settle around the fire. I'm not as young as I once was, you know."

"That," Duran Spiritblade said dryly, "is hard to believe."

Wesley had to resist pulling out Carsomyr to use on his late friend's son. That bastard may have died, but his arid humor sure as hell didn't!

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, West Central, USA, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 0620 hrs**_

The blonde-haired Paladin jerked her lance, Soul-Striker, out of the last were-beast with a twist of her powerful wrist, shivering in ecstasy as the blade severed its tough flesh and hide like a hot knife through butter. To completely exterminate his pack was perhaps the next best thing to correcting her Prince's error of sparing the arrogant werewolf years before, she thought. Silver-in-Shadows had stepped sideways into the spirit world, thereby evading the iron fist of retribution. She turned to face the other Fallen, who flicked her claymore, and nodded in greeting.

"It has been a long time, Galatea," Paladin Rebecca Marshall said.

Galatea was a striking woman, and her looks would have earned her a comfortable lifestyle on Earth as a model or a singer. Her insouciant demeanour and the plainess of her armour belied the fact that Galatea was a formidable swordmaster (or swordmistress, as the case may be) and was part of the Crimson Legion's Royal Guards.

"That it has, Masela," Galatea replied, "I see that you have managed to infiltrate the Tyrant's mortal army. Not surprising, considering that your abilities in stealth and subterfuge is almost second to none. So...is he here?"

No prizes on guessing as to whom Galatea was referring to.

"He is. But getting to him will be problematic in and of itself. I cannot approach him without risking blowing my cover or getting myself killed. The only thing I can do is prevent our Archduchess's enemies from getting to him before the rest of you do," Rebecca replied, "I will, however, warn you to be careful. He is not going to return to Frostcrown just because you asked."

"Still, we will try. If he goes on, he will face our King's wrath, and not even his mother can protect him," Galatea said, "And you know how vindictive our King is. He may well see fit to punish our Prince's lovers and children along the way."

Rebecca fell silent, picking up her cowboy hat that had fallen in the midst of the battle.

"No. I doubt that that will happen. Arikiba amuses our King. He admires our Prince's defiance; it reminds him of his own back during the days we stood against the Tyrant. Our King will show our Prince that whatever it is he is trying to do is futile. Just as our King cannot stand before the Tyrant, so our Prince cannot stand before our King. It is the way of the universe - no servant can best his master."

"Even so, Masela, I will not risk it."

"Have you seen the Times Square landmark on the way here?" Rebecca asked, throwing Galatea off-centre with the question.

"Yes. Why?"

"Our prince did that when Domiel and his war-parties attempted to use force to drag him back to Frostcrown. He shifted to his Divine Aspect in full-view of the mortals, Galatea, and turned the place into a war-zone. That is **not** something our Prince would do," Rebecca said.

"Your point...?"

"Something caused him to do so."

"Stop beating around the bush and tell me, then," Galatea said, annoyance in her silver eyes.

"There is a vampire Ancient sleeping beneath the city. I have reason to believe that its awakening, coupled with this strange earthquake that struck this city, were the reasons he lost his composure. Also, Galatea...there is something I need to ask regarding the earthquake."

"I know what you're about to ask. And the answer to that question is yes. **They** are most likely the ones responsible for this mess, but there is reason to believe that this is most likely the Great Beast pulling the strings of the Earthbound.'

Now, Rebecca turned pale, "Him?! But why...? What reason does he have to want to cooperate with those renegades? They would no more bargain with him than they would with our King!"

"I don't know what game is being played, but I sure as Heaven don't like it. I cannot shake the feeling that all of us are being played on a vast chessboard, but to what end, I am unsure. What I am sure of, Masela, is that the games being played have something to do with our King's plans to incarnate himself on Earth."

Rebecca rubbed her temples, remembering the fiasco of the Usurpation over sixty years ago. Prior to the Second World War, she and several others had, for the first time in thousands of years, joined forces with God's mortal army to take down the renegade Sinner faction who were determined to catapult all of Creation into the waiting arms of Armageddon. The ranks of the faction were replete with some of the finest champions of the Seven Legions, who had defected for a variety of reasons. But chief among the reasons for their exile from Hell was because they had murdered one of Lucifer's daughters for the sake of a plan that was beyond madness. But, even so, their enemies could not help but respect the conviction that drove them. With no other choice but to win, they played the game well and ruthlessly.

And now, a second game was being played. The only thing was that this game was far more subtle, with far-reaching implications. The prize for winning the game was nothing less than absolute sovereignty of all Creation; a game that, without a doubt, their King would want to win. But victory would not come easily. The children of Adam had heroes who would stand ready to meet the hurricane.

And they had already begun to move, gathering for a confrontation that would shake the world - and bring the Masquerade crashing down. Rebecca smiled then, remembering the Chinese curse.

May you live in interesting times.

_'Oh, I am, darling. I am...'_

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, USA, somewhere near to the National Guard security cordon, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 0750 hrs**_

The young man was in his early twenties, standing close to six feet, and had a wolf-lean build that was hardened in war and training. He would have passed off for a normal Asian walking the streets of one of the world's biggest cities, had it not been for the strange colour of his eyes. Red eyes were normally seen on albinos. This one wasn't. He lacked the pale skin and white hair of one. Once upon a time, the young man's eyes were brown. They held a stern focus that spoke of an iron will and conviction. In one moment, they could hold the icy malice of a tyrant and a playful kitten the next. But, now, as they regarded the devastated city, those same red eyes - the same colour as that of his friend and saviour - burned with purpose.

A friend was there, and he had called for help days ago. Never mind the fact that what his friend had done in his country during his absence had caused him a great, **great** deal of trouble. He could deal with that later. He pulled his robes tightly about him. The air was cold, but it was not the cold of nature's icy touch. It held a brooding malice that shrouded the city. Even the sun's rays barely penetrated the thick stormclouds that hung in the sky.

His friend was right. Something big - and bad - was about to happen. The massive deployment of manpower beneath him was **not** for show. The disaster that had claimed hundreds of life was about to claim many more. He wanted to make his move, but not before he had acquired information about what had happened. Going in blind into hostile territory was suicide. The Servants he had sent out would be returning soon. All he had to do was wait.

He jumped off the ledge back onto the rooftop. The moment his feet touched the concrete, two feminine forms materialised before him, kneeling in homage. Both women had long hair, with feline ears poking out of their heads. Their manner of dress revealed much of their feminine attributes, but allowed them freedom of movement as well giving them a distinct advantage should they face male opponents.Their forearms and lower legs were clad in ornate, scrollworked armour and their katanas were strapped across their backs. Both women were lovely, despite their apparently bestial traits. There were almost **no** female Servants who were not beautiful, the man reminded himself.

"Kirara," he nodded, addressing the dark-haired and brown-eyed Assassin Servant before turning his eyes on her sterner white-haired, amber-eyed counterpart, "Kurenai. It is good that you have returned unharmed. Have you found Arikiba or his compatriots?"

"No, Master," Kurenai replied, almost unable to believe that her extensive repertoire of Charms or her tracking skills had failed her, "Kirara and I have used all of our Charms and our skills to find him, but to no avail. Unless the Nephilim Prince makes a grand display of telling us where he is, finding him is next to impossible as things stand now. I can, however, confirm that he is in the city. Your friend, Master, has destroyed the Times Square landmark in a frenzied rage."

The young Battlemage paused in his musings, "Excuse me? Run that by me again. He did what?"

"The Nephilim Prince," Kurenai said, fighting back a smile, "destroyed Times Square."

Kirara pulled out a newspaper roll she had tucked into her belt and handed it to her Master, "He went full out, Sheik," addressing her Master by his birth-name, "And with good reason. Apparently, several packs of were-beasts, demons and Fallen had been waiting for him - all of which threw Masquerade out the window in their attempt to get him."

The young Battlemage read through the news report, and shot an angry glare in the direction of New York City's devastated interiors.

"I can't believe this, Camael," he spoke, as if to himself, "Arikiba is not one to simply go berserk. There has got to be a reason..."

**"...There is, my darling Sheik," **a feminine voice replied from Sheik's lips, "**There is a vampire Ancient sleeping beneath this city. That was what caused my Prince to lose control. Can you not sense it?"**

The angry look became one of astonishment, "A vampire Ancient? Which one?"

"**The Shaper Clan's progenitor is on the verge of awakening. Even now, I sense that he has devoured many - supernatural and mortal alike. There are indications that the vampire sects have started to take action to prevent their respective Ancients from waking up, but the act in itself is futile. The perfidy of the Camarilla sect's Founder has seen to it that any hope of presenting a united front against these antediluvian monsters is gone."**

"Camael...?"

**"Yes?"**

"Can you incarnate yourself?"

There was silence as the second soul in Sheik's body fell quiet.

Kurenai and Kirara exchanged worried looks. Ever since the Nephilim Prince, Arikiba, had saved their Master's life, the latter had changed in ways that disturbed even his colleagues in the Sorcerian.

Kurenai and her fellow Servants remembered the man their Master had been years before. He had been a Librarian, albeit one whose powers and abilities was easily the equal of any Court Battlemage or Swordmaster. Albeit one not to take a stance in the vicious internal politicking that was rife in the Mage Orders of the South-East Asian region, he had been drawn into a bitter feud between Japan's _Chii no Ryuu_ and the _Ten no Ryuu _of China and Korea when one of his friends who had been trying to end the bitter feud had been murdered.

It had taken the better part of seven months to uncover the byzantine conspiracy that had threatened to send the two factions into open war. Throw in the fact that Black Whirlwind activity had been skyrocketing in the region lately, and it didn't take Kurenai's Master long to put the pieces of the puzzle together - leading him to believe that whoever it was that was de-stabilising the region were those with considerable power and influence. His nosing around soon had more than a few _Chii no Ryuu_ and _Ten_ _no Ryuu_ on him, servants of those whose identities he wished to uncover.

It was during one such confrontation that, enraged beyond all endurance at the temerity of this outsider, the faceless puppetmasters sent in the Renegades. The Renegades were Battlemages and Swordmasters who were outside - or were exiled from - the Sorcerian for breaking its rigid laws. It was a battle that had left many people dead and their Master with one foot in the ferry. Outnumbered, but utterly unwilling to surrender, they had fought a vicious, running battle from the city interiors to the city docks - which they promptly demolished in the ensuing struggle. Had the Nephilim Prince not leapt into the fray, all that their Master had hoped to accomplish would have been for nothing.

And had it not been for the ritual that he used to save their Master, the latter would have perished. The Nephilim Prince had asked them if they were willing to bear the consequences of their actions, and Caster had asked what price was so high that such a question would be asked. The price, Arikiba had said, was to allow a female spirit, a Fallen that had slept in timeless limbo and had fallen defending him during his escape from Hell, to reside in the body of their Master. The Charms that the Renegades had used were ones that had struck the latter's soul directly, almost blasting it from his body. His soul was so badly mauled that he would not even survive the moment when God's soul-reapers came for him. And without a soul more powerful than his to ward them off, it went without saying what his - and their - eventual fate would be.

Kurenai had remembered the looks on her fellow Servants' faces when, at the end of the ritual, emerging from a storm of clouds, the spirit of the rebel angel hovered over their Master's body, clutching his bloodied and ruined spirit-form in her arms and scaled tail. Six black wings, streaked heavily with silver and lightning blue, spread gloriously. Beautiful in the forbidden way that had tempted saints and martyrs, with crimson eyes and long hair the colour of storm clouds, the rebel angel that introduced herself as Camael, Angel of Merciless Fury and Arikiba's chief lieutenant when the latter was a Lord Commander of the Unholy Host.

The white-haired Assassin Servant remembered the reactions of her fellows. Upon hearing the name of the spirit, Caster, if it was even possible, turned whiter than her hair and the normally condescending look on her aristocratic features became one of such fury that the Nephilim Prince took a involuntary backward step. Caster, always having treated Kurenai's Master with condescension and contempt ever since the latter forcibly broke her Contract with her previous Master, had surprised her fellows with such a display of emotion. Each of them believed that if there was any one among them who would strike the first blow when Sheik's back was turned, it would be Caster. Of the 12 Servants, only Kirara, Angelic Sabre and Demonic Rider and herself had made the pacts with Sheik willingly. The rest had been forced into Contracts with him when he had defeated their Masters. Stripping them of their Servants instead of reducing them to ashes had been an unconventional way of removing Mages from the playing field, but it was Sheik's favoured way of dealing with his enemies. It was a shrewd move in any case, as it would give the Servants he converted to his cause lesser reason to turn on him, particularly if they were fond of their former Masters.

The bonding with Camael, however, had its benefits. It made Kurenai's Master the physical equivalent of a vampire elder. The power of his Charms were ten times more powerful than before, and Camael's intellect and combat experience was of great use to her new host. A merciless instructor, she wanted Sheik to be every bit as strong as she was, and had no compunction of having his Servants beat him within an inch of his life. The reason why soon became obvious - Camael knew Charms that demanded that its user have enough physical and mental strength to cast them. Those Charms were old, and so terrible that the Sorcerian had kept it under lock and key, promising a fate worse than death to anyone who dared to use it. Also, during moments of extreme duress, Camael would manifest herself and take her flaming sword to anyone who stood in her way. The rebel angel was as mighty as half a dozen Servants put together and was more than capable of devastating a large city if given half the chance.

But, as Arikiba had warned, no deal with the devil was without its due. The bond between Sheik and Camael saw to it that the Torment in the latter spilled over into the former. His personality changed. There was a bloodthirst in his gaze that rivalled even Servant Berserker's, and Kurenai had seen her Master torture his enemies with the detachment of a child who was pulling the wings off a bug for the simple reason of watching it writhe in agony. His dislike and distrust of God's servants deepened into utter hatred, and woe betide any man of the cloth who crossed the line, for for Camael and her host would make the sinner suffer for his trespass.

"Kurenai."

The white-haired Assassin Servant looked up, "Yes, my Master?"

"Is it true?"

"What...?" Kurenai's brow beetled in confusion.

"That the agents of the Church are in the city?"

_Oh...that._

"Yes, Master. I estimate the equivalent of a full infantry battalion is within the city, and there is no doubt that nearby Watch Towers of the Inquisition will be sending in their Militia. They appear to be searching for something, and I strongly advise not getting in their way."

"Are they searching for Arikiba?"

"There is a high possibility of that, Master. The Nephilim Prince is not exactly a friend of the Church. But...there was something else that Kirara mentioned that disturbs me..."

"Kirara?" Sheik turned his attention to the dark-haired Assassin Servant.

"Well, Master...I overheard the Church Inquisitors talking about someone called the 'Avatar', and that their top priority, next to purging this city of every supernatural, was to find her. I believe, Sheik, that their intention is to kill her," Kirara cut in.

**"Avatar...?" **Camael's voice emerges from Sheik's lips, **"Caster, appear."**

A woman, clad in a bodysuit and swathed in richly-embroided robes and holding a crackling staff topped with an eye and a double-headed, materialised. She pushed back her fur-lined hood and long, white hair spilt out. Her expression was sulky, a clear indication that she disliked being called upon by the female rebel angel general.

"What do you want, demoness?"

**"Karla," **Camael spoke,** "I want you to prepare several..."**

And Sheik's original voice cut in, "Camael, if there is something you know about what my Servants are talking about, you'd better start talking or I'll make you."

**"Do not threaten me, Sheik,"** Camael's voice was glacial.

"I do better than threaten, Camael. I carry out my threats. Now tell me what it is they're talking about," Sheik replied, unfazed by the anger in the Fallen's voice.

**"The Avatar that Camael speaks of, Master, is the one chosen to be the vessel of her Prince. And no, I'm not talking about Arikiba. Prince he may be, but even he bends knee to one mightier than his mother."**

"You don't mean-?!" Sheik was not slow on the uptake. He knew immediately what Karla was talking about. There was only one being mightier than the Legion Lords combined. God's favourite Archangel, cast down after his defeat during the War. By all the powers in Creation, just what did Arikiba get himself involved in here?

"I am going to give that half-breed a good kick up his arse for this...!" Sheik growled, as the implications of what he was about to do next became clear, "Appear - all of you!"

Nine figures materialised before him, clad in outlandish armour and clothing. Had any anime-otaku seen them, he or she would have sworn the men and women that stood before the young man leapt out of a computer game. And they would have been jealous, in more ways than one.

"It has been confirmed that that idiot **is** in the city. And it appears he invited a **lot** of people into it. For the **first** time, I think Arikiba has bitten off more than he could chew, if his destroying Times Square is any indication. There is also vampire Ancient sleeping under this city; how the Hell it got there, I don't know, but I suspect that its servants brought its body here centuries ago. Camael tells me that this particular Ancient is the progenitor of the Shaper Clan. Throw in the fact that every supernatural in the city is practically trying to get the hell out or trying to raise hell, we are in for a wild night," Sheik began, falling into the comfortable role of a on-field military advisor, "As things stand, the Masquerade will fall, regardless of what anyone tries to do. The world is starting to realize that they share Holy Terra with other beings for centuries ever since the Cataclysm. When we go into the city, the gloves are off. Use your powers as you see fit; the monsters we will encounter will not do the same."

"What of the Cross Warriors, Master? What should we do if we meet them?" asked Servant Berserker, a lush-bodied woman who wielded an axe almost as large as herself, and whose long golden locks were braided and beaded in the way of the Celts centuries ago. Her body bore the intricate war-paints of the Howling Wolf Clan.

"Finding Arikiba is our foremost priority, Sonya," Sheik replied, "But should they choose to engage us in battle...it's their lives to waste. Oh, and try not to harm Arikiba until **after** we get him out of the mess he got himself into. I want a **very** good explanation from him, and he will not be able to answer if he is unconscious."  
Sonya exchanged looks with her fellow Servants, the memory of what had happened weeks prior still fresh on their minds. Archmage Jason, Sorcerer Prince of Singapore, had set a price on their Master's head because Arikiba, who had masqueraded as their Master during the time he was not in the country, had incinerated several of the Sorcerer Prince's best mages for whatever-the-hell reason the original was not aware of. Regardless, it did not change the fact that Sheik had run out of the country two hours after he got in - and in a fashion that added insult to injury. The look in his eyes told the Servants that the Nephilim Prince was going to pay when the Battlemage got his hands on him.

"But first..." Sheik said, "We have to locate the Crimson Lotus's base of operations..."

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, USA, within the disaster area, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 0750 hrs**_

An estimated 40 Inquisitorial kill-teams had entered the city in total. In all the years Paladin

Lilia Aberlein had served the Church, she had never seen a deployment of this scale. The intention of her superiors in Rome, however, was clear - purge the city of the heretics that infested it and find the Avatar. Prophetess Constance, the leader of the Oracles of Delphi, had indicated - and confirmed - that the latter was in the city, and that neither the rescue teams nor the servants of the Archenemy had gotten to her yet.

But time was running short. And for every moment she wasted fighting the Archenemy's peons, it grew even shorter. But, like the human race, Lilia knew that **her** time was up. There was no way she could defeat this horde of scrofulous monsters whose eyes blazed with inhuman lust. Her instructors had warned her that should she be on the verge of being captured by the Fallen or their servants, that she had best cut her throat than be subjected to their tender mercies. They would rape her over and over, to ensure that her womb sired one of their kind.

"Get out of my way, scum!" she shrieked as her broadsword bit deep into inhuman flesh and sent another creature flying. Lilia drew in a deep breath, trying to still the fear in her heart and calm her mind. A strangled scream made Lilia whirl; the voice was that of her friend, Kara.

"No! Noo!!!"

The desperation and despair in her screams told Lilia what was being done to her. She paled, and ran towards the direction of her friend's scream. Another one of the undead creatures charged towards her, and Lilia blasted it at point-blank range with her gun. Its worm-ridden corpse was flung ten feet back.

"Kara!!" Lilia shouted, "Hold on!"

"Lilia! Help me, please...!" and her friend's voice was cut off his a strangled scream of agony, "Nooo! It's too large! You'll tear me apart...!!"

Several more ghouls leapt at her, and Lilia quickly fired her gun, catapulting them back. She turned her gun on the last one, and pulled the trigger...only to be rewarded with an ominous click. Lilia's expression immediately turned to one of pure horror, and before she could swing her blessed broadsword, the ghoul smashed its fist across her face, sending her sailing through the air. The keening howls of the creatures was one of triumph as they converged on their helpless prey. Lilia tried to fight, but without her weapons, she was helpless. The ghouls strength was as inhuman as their bodies.

And as monstrous as the lust that shone in their crimson eyes.

One of them cut through the leather straps of her breastplate with its claws before hurling it away. Lilia struggled, but the beasts quickly reduced the clothes she wore under her armour to shreds. Before she could scream, one of them gripped her head and plunged its enormous, erect organ into her mouth. Lilia gagged, and her eyes suddenly widened as she felt massive claws grip her hips, lifting her lower body up. That was when Lilia started to panic, and her struggles became all the more desperate, as she saw what manner of being was holding her.

The creature was over eight feet in height, hunched and its skin looked like cured leather. Its face was a cruel caricature of a human face. Half of that monstrous face had its skin flensed from it, and the breath was thick with the scent of decay. She could see maggots wriggle in the creature's face, and its eyes looked at her with a mixture of inhuman lust and monstrous hunger. She could feel something hard pressing against her pubic hair, moving to the slit between her vaginal lips and her anus. Lilia squeezed her eyes shut, wanting more than anything for the nightmare to end.

But this wasn't a nightmare. It was real. She was about to be violated by the monstrous servants of the Archenemy.

Lilia choked as the ghoul that had its organ unleashed a flood of foul-tasting, viscous fluid into her mouth, at the same instant the enormous horror that held her thrust its organs up her groin, and the muscles in both her vagina and anus clamped down on the massive intruders. Lilia screamed, then, begging someone - anyone! - to come save her.

"Don't...aaarrggghhh! You'll tear me apart! Stop it! Noooo...!!"

The beast behind her started to slam its pelvis against hers as its fellows hooted and hissed, almost as if cheering their gigantic cousin on. The female paladin wailed, a sound of purest anguish and despair. A sound that would be magnified a billion times over when the Unholy Host took its grisly vengeance upon the human race.

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, North Central, The Azure Apartments, USA, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 0640 hrs**_

The Azure Apartments located in New York City's North Central was the domicile of at least three hundred middle-class families of every race and ethnicity. The earthquake had done wonders of evicting them in short order, and gave looters an unpredecented chance of making off with everything of value - and vandalising its well-tended premises along the way. A dozen men and women in robes and armour, the symbol of a throne and a cross sown onto them, moved carefully through the narrow corridors. Each of them were armed with their own signature weapons, ranging from swords to halberds, and custom-made assault rifles whose casings gleam menacingly in the from the flickering lights overhead.

"Anything, Yurney?" a powerfully-built man with a blonde crew-cut asked a red-haired woman whose eyes were closed in concentration.

The woman remains silent for several moments longer, before shaking her head, "Nothing, Arles. This entire complex is deserted. Despite so, I suggest that we take the stairs. I have no wish to be caught in a disadvantageous position should our enemies decide to attack us."

"Agreed," Arles replied. They had been here for the past five days, and the search was to no avail. Finding the Avatar in the midst of the devastated city was difficult, and the supernaturals living within had gone amok. Some had been reasonable, exchanging information in return for the quickest route out of the city. Others had been less than so, and had attacked them for no other reason than the fact that they were there. The Seraphs had split up to cover the other possible places that the Avatar, a young woman by the name of Brandii Ellis, would be taking refuge in. Several of them were in the middle of searching the hospitals and medical tents, using their Disciplines and Charms to cover more ground.

It was an impossible task, Arles thought, but to give up now meant that an innocent would die. There was a desperation in their actions that would not go unnoticed by the enemy; the game had but one throw of the dice, and if it went against them, there would not be a second throw. Prophetess Constance of the Oracles of Delphi may be aiding them, but the fact that she had to share the information with the Silent Throne's brethren in the Inquisition told Arles that the blind seeress was in a very hard position. She would give Wesley and his allies no more than the slightest advantage, not enough for Bauer and her zealots to realize that she had thrown in her lot with those who may well be representing the only chance humanity had left.

Arles could still scarcely believe the patch-worked alliance that his excommunicated superior had brought together. Among them were beings that the Church had believed to be their enemies, whose existence was a heresy against all that was good and holy. The Burial Agency, the most extreme faction in the Ophanim, the Inquisition's daemonhunters, would now be let off their leash. Arles knew some of those in the Agency, but the majority of those he had met were borderline crazy. But, knowing the history of many of them, who could blame them for being that way? He had spoken to the most sane of them before, and she had told him that she had once been a host for one of the Second House's Dead Apostles. She could not die unless she sent the vampire that had possessed her two centuries ago straight to Hell. Last he heard of her, she had gone to Japan to find him (or her, as that particular vampire could reincarnate into a man or a woman).

It did not take Arlex, Yurney and Thor to reach the girl's apartment. Like the hundred or so units in the building, it was empty, its inhabitants having fled when the strength of the earthquake reached an alarming level. The home of Brandii Ellis had been ransacked, but what perplexed Arles was that nothing valuable had been taken. Or, at least those who had been trying to take what was valuable had not the chance to do so.

Their cold bodies laid on the floor, with their limbs or their heads separated from the rest of them. Upon closer inspection, however, Arles saw that the wounds had been cauterised, a clear indication that a heated weapon had been used - but who would...?

The answer came almost immediately and when Thor emerged from the room holding a knife inscribed with the sigil of the Ophanim on its crosshilt. The blue-haired Exorcist's face was grim and pained as he told Arles that the Avatar's parents and her younger siblings had been killed trying to protect her.

"Arles," Thor spoke after a moment of silence, his voice shaking, "...Why did they do this?"

"Victory at any cost has long been Bauer's maxim and, while I dislike the way she does things, it had given the Archenemy good reason to fear us. But that icy conviction of hers lacks the one thing that men and women like us should have in the war against the Unholy - compassion. Without this, we would be no different from the Archenemy's servants," Arles replied, "But this...I would never have believed that Bauer would go this far."

Arles stood up, and pulled a walkie-talkie out from his belt, "Cartner, Zieda, get the vans started. The rest of you return to the vehicles. Target has been taken, but we still have a chance to save her."

"But how will we find her, Arles?" Yurney interrupted, "She could be in any one of ten thousand places..."

"Then we'd better start searching before...," Arles was stopped in mid-sentence when Namira's lilting voice came through it, "Captain Arles, we have a problem..."

Arles and his friends froze when they heard the gunshots, and rushed over to the windows. There, down below, their compatriots were locked in a furious battle with a rebel angel and its servants. There, hovering in storm clouds, in its dread Divine Aspect, was a rebel angel of death. A massive scythe was clutched in talon-like fingers and its black wings emerged from rents in its moldering robes. Even twelve stories up, Arles, Thor and Yurney could feel the being's hate in the whispered threat that made the shadows about it darker. And about it, its rotting servants hissed and spat at their enemies.

"AH, I SEE THAT I WAS NOT WRONG AFTER ALL. NOT THE PALTRY FOOTSOLDIERS OF THE TYRANT'S ARMY, BUT HIS ELITE. GOOD. I WAS WEARY OF BUTCHERING HIS LAMBS," and it turned its hooded head upwards, its yellowed teeth bared at Arles, "COME DOWN AND JOIN THEM, PALADIN. IT WILL SAVE ME THE WORK OF HUNTING YOU DOWN."

Arles gave the rebel angel a middle finger, withdrew back into the house, and kicked the wall, sending it tearing out the side of the building to crash into the neighbouring apartment block. Thor exchanged a look with Yurney. Arles was angry, and the fury had been building up for some time now. The rebel angel may very well have made the last mistake in its long existence. Thor and Yurney joined Arles as he leapt down. The last landed with an enormous crash, and when the dust settled, had his halberd out.

"Finally, something I can get my teeth into," Arles said, his eyes crackling, "Not werewolves, vampires or the puppets of the shit pile that's sleeping under the city, but a Fallen."

The rebel angel snorted, "YOU THINK TOO MUCH OF YOUR ABILITIES, PALADIN. I AM NOT AS WEAK LIKE MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS YOU HAVE SMOTE IN YOUR TIME AS THE TYRANT'S LAPDOG."

"No, you're not," Arles conceded, "You're a class 3 Fallen, which means you are a Lord amongst your kind. And that is all the reason I need to not hold back!" and with that, unleashed a blast of divine flame at the rebel angel.

**X X X X X X**

_**Middle East, Golan Heights, Israel, 25th September 1999, 0035 hrs**_

"...and that was the last time we saw him," Wesley finished, studying his reflection in the tea's rippling surface, "My friends and I - the last survivors of the Order of St. Michael - returned to Rome, and from there, went our separate ways. We made a promise before we parted. On the year before the millennium turns, we will play out the final moves of a game a thousand years in the making.

"Even now, my friends are risking their lives to see to it that my will is done. I know that what I have asked of them - and of all of you - is selfish, and may very well cost you your lives. I have already spat upon the things you held dear, all for the sake of what may be a foolish gamble that we may lose anyway."

"If it is so high a risk, why then are you staying the course?" Jeanette asked.

"I've asked myself that question every night for twenty years, Miss Dover," Wesley said as he finished his tea, "The only answer that came to mind was this: I have to see this through. If I turn back now, this world is done for."

"Done for? Do you really expect me to believe what is written in the edited book of God?"

Wesley chuckled at the younger woman's irreverence. Jeanette Dover was not wrong. After so many revisions, the Bible could no longer be said to be the original word handed down from the Creator to his chosen emissaries. Meanings once open to interpretation now had a single answer, and segments that would have made a story whole had been removed. Wesley had said to his friend that it was the actions of well-meaning men who wished to protect the flock; Shateiel had laughed, and told him that those 'well-meaning men' were more interested in protecting their own interests and reputations.

Shateiel had lived for a long time, as the passage of time in Hell was different from that of the Creation's. He had been around even before Christ was born, and had been there when he was crucified. He had listened to Prophet Muhammad as that great teacher sought to change the ways of his people and his final sermon on Mount Arafat. He had been there where the Black Death swept Europe and when the Pope declared a Crusade to retake the Holy Land from the infidels, fanning the flames with his blood-hunts.

_**"I am a sinner. I know this. I was sired in rape, to a defeated heroine my father had crushed in battle. I have fought, killed and betrayed in order to live a single moment longer. I do not beg for forgiveness for the atrocities I have committed in my time as the Bloody Angel, nor will I ask forgiveness for my actions prior to my Exaltation. In God's eyes, I am His enemy - but for now, I will do Him a service."**_

Wesley closed his eyes, remembering the terrible conviction in his friend's gaze as he knelt before the Pope.

_**"I will send the False amongst His Faithful to their due reward. Evil knows its own; it shall mete out its own justice, and I will be His select Huntsman for the time I do His Will."**_

He saw his friend sitting alone on the Castel St. Angelo's upper levels, studying the roads beneath him.

_**"Will God forgive me?"**_

Tsubaki had helped him find the road to that end, only to find that Fate will not allow Shateiel to break the oaths he had made a lifetime ago. No doubt, Cameela had secured her former lover's soul, and would prepare a copy of his original body to inhabit so as to serve her once more. At least, Wesley thought, he would be spared the torments of Hell's torture chambers.

"Wesley?" Jeannette spoke, "Are you all right?"

The Cardinal nodded, "In answer to the question you posed, I would rather that you believe that there is a God - even if it looks like He has all but abandoned the world. My teacher told me once that the only people who can get the world out of its sorry state are the same people who made it that way in the first place. I am not so arrogant to think that I can change the world on my own."

"Your penchant for biting off more than you can chew is perhaps the one thing you have in common with Shateiel, Wesley," Sings-the-Dawn commented, biting into the second loaf of bread, "But you, at least, have the common sense to make sure you brought back-up. Shateiel would go in on his own, with that damn crazy smile on his face, and proceed to tear up the landscape - and everyone and everything that so much as looked at him cross-eyed!"

Wesley thanked God he had swallowed his drink. Sings-the-Dawn's penchant of throwing up knife-in-rib rejoinders would have made Machiavelli proud. He gave the Red Indian shaman a dirty look. Seeing this, Sings-the-Dawn promptly began to twist it, his wicked glee well-hidden behind the mess tin he raised to his lips.

"What do you mean?" Rasha asked, pulling Wesley's coat tighter about her lean frame.

"Wesley has some bad habits, most of which are forgivable. It is the ones that aren't that give me reason to worry."

"Eral!" Wesley growled, addressing Sings-the-Dawn by his name.

"And that is?" Rasha was playing along. The Red Indian shaman leaned over and whispered something into the young woman's ear. Rasha went through all the shades of a glorious sunset. Alys and Silana-Calaster, as well as Morrigan and her children, whose supernatural abilities allowed them to hear what the Red Indian Shaman had told Rasha, turned and stared at Wesley in utter amazement.

"Good God..." Silana-Calaster squeaked, "That much?"

Morrigan did not say a word, but the stunned look on her face had her children giggling. Fala choked back her laughter long enough to promise Wesley that, should they get out of this alive, she would let him drink himself into torpor - on condition he did not sing. Wesley added Fala and Eral Sings-the-Dawn to his shit list.

"But..." Eral continued, humour finally leaving his voice, "this is perhaps the most unforgiveable ones - and it is the one we forgive all the same. You've heard the saying that one's friends influence the person one is and how they can guide him, or her," and he nodded towards Morrigan and Silana-Calaster, "from beyond the grave. You made an oath here, to men and women who are your friends, upon a task that had cost you - and them - their lives. You've been living on borrowed time all this time, and now it is running out."

Wesley poured what remained of his drink into the fire.

"But, from the beginning, Wesley, was it not your fault that your friends are dead?"

The excommunicated Cardinal visibly flinched.

"You could," the Red Indian shaman continued, "have asked for what reason Galford would send you - alone! Alone, of all things! - into an embattled country, without support, to do what he and his own elite team could have done."

"I..."

"I am not finished, Wesley."

Everyone around the campfire stared at the Red Indian shaman as he unleashed a withering barrage on Wesley, who was starting to wilt under the intense gaze of the former.

"You trusted Galford. That much is forgivable. He was your friend and superior, and you were blind to his motives. But, for you to not have withdrawn when the alternative was given was foolishness. Have you ever considered why you did not?"

"Because if we did, some other party would have taken the Sword!" Wesley fired back, "Do you, Eral, have any idea how powerful that relic is? Oh, I forgot...you weren't in this country twenty years ago! Shall I illuminate you? Even though I have never held it, I felt its mere **presence** warp my powers. Charms I could have once used with ease, I now find difficult to cast. Disciplines I never had before developed or grew stronger. My body, whose rate of regeneration was astounding, even to Shateiel, now takes longer to recover."

"Some other party would have taken to Sword?" Sings-the-Dawn parroted, "If Galford had taken the Sword, what would he have done? Kill the Pope? Ruin the nations? If your account is to be believed, I doubt he would even survive to wield the blade, considering what had happened to Aziel Helmraz. You could have convinced your brethren in the Vatican that you were not guilty of the charges Galford had levelled against you; the chances of doing so was slim, yes, but it was there nonetheless.

"So, tell me, Wesley. Why did you not withdraw?"

Wesley closed his eyes, then, remembering the reason why.

His pride would not allow him to retreat. And it was his pride that had led his friends to their deaths. Shateiel and Tsubaki's unforgiving rage had spurred him on; for good or for evil, they would see it through. But, did their conviction fire his pride? Or was it the other way round?

_**'Should you be lost, all you have to do, my darling, is come back to where it all began...'**_

Wesley, to the surprise of everyone in the party, who were almost expecting him to tear the Red Indian shaman a new orifice, smiled.

"Because I've never been good at running away. And those whom I have gathered to my side share the same conviction. If I am to die, it will not be on my knees."

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, West Central, USA, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 0930 hrs**_

Arikiba flung the mutant down the street, its rent body leaving a trail of blood as it sailed through the air. He whirled about, his crackling battle-claws trailing flame as he cut another from groin to head. The things, for they could not even be called anything else, were no doubt the sick by-products of the slowly-awakening vampire Ancient's experiments. The fact that they had once been human was clear in the Nephilim Prince's soul-sight - and the fact that his battle-claws shrieked as it devoured their souls. He slammed his tail against another mutant with sufficient force to smack it through a building. It got back up a few seconds later, and the Nephilim growled in annoyance.

A thunderous gunshot that rang out an instant later saw to it that it stayed down. Arikiba gave Lucia a thumbs-up, and the perky girl grinned, before cocking her shotgun once more and blasting another mutant of its feet. The Sacred rounds loaded into the guns of every Seraph made sure that monsters as tough as the Ancient's pet puppet-soldiers stayed down. Lightning flashed from Faia's hands as she unleashed her Sky Thunder Charms, electrifying the very air and searing flesh from bone like a flensing knife.

The air was heavy as a result with the scent of ozone and cordite. Standing amidst the ruins of the once great metropolis, Arikiba could almost remember the time he had sacked a city of this size during the time he had led his mother's army. He could remember the explosions and the sounds of gunfire as its feeble defenders fell to swords and guns of the Unholy Host. He remembered the screams of women raped and children murdered, and he remembered the reason why he had chosen to leave Hell with a retinue who had grown sick of a war no longer worth fighting.

He tore through a dozen mutants, his four wings carrying him past them.

Arikiba had called for his friend, the original Sheik Muhammad, Librarian mage of the Singapore Court, to come to New York. No doubt the latter would be beyond pissed when he arrived, and the Nephilim Prince would want his friends between them when he started explaining. Camael would no doubt want to put a few lumps on his head for putting her host's life in danger. He would not have wanted to put Sheik's life in danger had it not been for the Camarilla Founder's pet Warlock, Azaha.

But, all things considered, Sheik and his 12 Servants would be one hell of a brick-in-a-glove when push came to shove.

Arikiba leapt aside just as another one of the vampire Ancient's flesh-crafted soldiers thundered towards him. Larger than its brethren, it had clearly been fleshcrafted for physical confrontations. Claws that could shear a car in two adorned its four arms, and its powerful legs could carry across long distances within moments. The Nephilim prince's tail whipped around the creature's leg, and with a single hard tug, caused it to lose its balance.

He cut its body in half before it even hit the ground.

The other mutants started backing off. It appears that they were still human enough to know what fear was. And their master apparently was starting to get the idea that the being he faced was one as old - perhaps even older - than it. His battle-claws crackled and wailed in tune with the growing violence of their wielder, even as he raised the gauntlet-mounted gun in their direction.

"Be afraid, Childer of Caine," Arikiba whispered in sadistic delight, "Be very, very afraid..."

And then he sent a barrage of fiery bolts streaking down the road like a multitude of shooting stars.

**X X X X X X**

_**Crimson Lotus base, New York abandoned subway network, 1030 hrs**_

Getting to the Crimson Lotus's secret base had not been easy. Although he knew the quickest routes to get there, each one of them had either collapsed during the earthquake or brought down by the ninjas themselves. That had left getting to it via the hard way - and that way meant crawling through the dark tunnels of the subway. He and his Servants had been in more than thirty encounters, and while the latter showed no signs of exhaustion, he was starting to feel the strain of casting so many Charms.

After two hours of intense searching and fighting, they finally stood before the wooden, warded double-doors of the Crimson Lotus's hidden base, guided there by the watchers its Master had set at possible points of attack. They had been surprised to see him, but the look on his face and the explanation he had given had one of the guards bringing him to see their Master. The old Master smiled, welcoming the young Battlemage.

"I see that many of your kin are badly injured, Master Chang Wu," Sheik said, bowing in respect, before turning to look at the bodies of the badly-wounded that laid on the floor. Healing charms of various degrees were being used, but from the conversations between those treating them, Sheik could tell that they were running out.

"Master Wu," Sheik began, but the old man raised a hand.

"I know why you are here, young Mage. Your friend, the Nephilim Prince, is here in this city."

Sheik's eyes widened.

"Your friend is not the most subtle half-breed in the world, but he is one of the most powerful. Min Hwa there," the ninja master said, indicating a purple-haired girl whose lower torso and arms were heavily bandaged, "saw him lose composure when the earthquake shook this great city to its foundations. He was immediately set upon by several packs of the Jade Emperor's exiled servants and _hengeyokai_ loyal to them. The whole of Times Square, if you are aware..."

"Has been utterly demolished?" Sheik finished, "Yes, I am aware of that. But, I must find him, nonetheless. The tone of his message tells me that he needs assistance badly. And after I have rendered it, I want a **very** good explanation as to what he has done to cause my country's Mage Court to put a price on my head."

Against his better judgment, the old ninja master proceeded to ask what exactly the Nephilim Prince had done to him. The answer soon had the old man's jaw hitting the floor, and he glanced briefly to the shrine that rested at the far end of the main hall, and sent a mental prayer to his ancestors in hopes that the Nephilim Prince would survive the beating that would no doubt ensue when the young Mage caught up with him.

"But, there is another reason as to why I am here, Master Wu," Sheik spoke, instants before he felt something reach out from deep beneath him. His eyes widened, and before he could command the rebel angel within him to back off, she sent his consciousness into the waiting arms of Morpheus. The last thing he heard was that she would take care of everything.

"And that is?"

No reply. The ninja master turned to see that the Mage had frozen in his tracks, a look of surprise on his face. That was when a chill crept up his spine. His subordinates nearby, seeing his reaction, turned their attention on the young man their Master had spoken to.

"Sheik? What's wrong?"

"Forgive me, old one. As Sheik was about to tell you, there is a vampire Ancient sleeping beneath this city," a female voice suddenly spoke, causing the old ninja master to leap several feet back, his hand reaching for the katana belted across his back. His violent reaction caused his subordinates nearby to surround their once-ally in an instant, blades drawn.

Sheik's crimson-on-gold eyes, a mark that the female rebel angel was in full control, regarded the mortals around her with contempt. She could feel the Servants bristle, preparing to materialise upon her command.

"What have you done to him, vile spirit?" one female ninja asked, her katana glowing.

"Done to him?" Camael said, "Nothing much. He was on the verge of collapse, little girl. He needs time to recuperate, and so I caused his mind to shut down. Honestly...he really does not know how to take care of himself. And put those weapons away. If you so much as make one false move, my host's Servants and I will turn this place into a slaughterhouse."

"Put away your weapons," the old ninja master shouted, his voice thunderous in the confines of the hall. The other ninjas obeyed, albeit reluctantly, and took several steps back out of attack range. Their eyes were cold with distrust and hate. It was clear to Camael that the ninjas of the Crimson Lotus loved Sheik like a brother, and a brief glimpse at her host's memory told the rebel angel that the old master had taught him much of the group's fighting arts prior to her possession of him. The memory of a dark-haired girl with green eyes, smiling at him, holding her katana in reverse grip as both of them circled each other, made the rebel angel's heart ache.

_'So, this was the place where you met your first love...'_

"I want an explanation from you, spirit, as to how you managed to possess our friend," the old ninja master said, his grey eyes meeting Camael's crimson-on-gold ones.

"It will be given, as soon as I have finished what my host came here to do."

"And that is?"

"He wants you to abandon the city."

"What? Abandon this city? Never..." another voice cut in, and a blue-haired ninja, clad in the fighting gear of the Crimson Lotus and wearing a red bandanna strode up towards Camael and the ninja master. Camael knew him instantly. Recca Kurogane, leader of the 2nd ninja squad, and acting leader of the Crimson Lotus. Ever since they had met, Sheik and Recca disliked one another. The latter thought the former nothing more than a second-rate martial artist, and the former saw the latter as nothing more than a fool. It was hard to believe that he was related and named after the Crimson Lotus's founder, Recca Tsukikaze. He was also the younger brother of the girl Sheik had loved.

"It has been a long time, cousin," Camael spoke.

"Do not call me cousin, spirit. I have more relation with the idiot you possess than you," Recca replied, "Wake him up. I wish to speak to him. He has some nerve to step back into these halls, especially after what he did to my sister..."

Camael immediately became curious, and tried to look farther into her host's memories, but a mental wall immediately caused her to flinch. Sheik was not about to let her go prying into his soul. It was clear that this was an issue he wanted to deal with himself. The only people who would know about this were his Servants, and they were as close-mouthed about it as Sheik was.

"You can deal with him when he has the strength to deal with you, boy. Until then, you will deal with me," the rebel angel replied, "And you will agree to my request to abandon this city, whether you like it or not. Sheik's memories tell me that while you and the Crimson Lotus are strong, none of you will survive the confrontation that is about to come."

"Are you saying that we are lacking, spirit?" Recca snarled.

"Recca, enough," Wu Chang spoke, putting a firm grip on the younger man's forearm, "This is neither the time nor place to settle your private vendettas. Sheik has sacrificed much to come here, and his reasons to have us abandon this city are valid. Too many of our brothers and sisters are either dead or injured. Should we stay any longer trying to fighting this flood, more of them will die. A retreat at this point in time is perhaps the wisest option."

"But - " Recca began, but the older man silenced his younger counterpart with a look. Master Wu Chang turned back to face his possessed former student.

"The only question is," Wu Chang asked, "how are you going to get over fifty people out of this city without the local authorities and the supernaturals noticing?"

Camael smiled, and called for Caster. The white-haired Servant materialised, her sour expression telling the rebel angel that she was none too pleased at having to obey the latter's command.

"She," Camael said, pointing to Caster, "will help you with that."

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, USA, New York General Hospital, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 1200 hrs**_

Marianne Ash had worked at New York's General Hospital for over five years, and nothing had prepared her for the events that would follow in the aftermath of the earthquake that occurred five days ago. The amount of work and stress had left her so exhausted that her superiors had ordered her off the roster until she had twelve hours of complete rest. It was a good thing that the hospital's management saw fit to set aside a large room to double as the staff lounge and quarters. It was as comfortable as a Class-A Ward, she had to admit, and the fact that it had all the amenities saw to it that she - and her colleagues - could sleep easy.

"You sleep okay, Mary?" her colleague, Janet, asked as she emerged from the pantry, holding a hot drink. She was still in uniform, and her weary face made her look older than her 25 years.

"Yeah...what time is it?" Marianne asked, rubbing her eyes drowsily.

"It's noon. You slept for more than ten hours. Doctor Burns told me to let you sleep on and to tell you, when you woke up, to report back to work as soon as possible. Honestly, I'd say you deserve the rest. Thirty-six hours non-stop in one operation after another will drive anyone crazy..." Janet said.

"How's everything in the operating room?"

Janet shook her head, "Not good. People keep coming in, Mary. And things have gotten worse. As you can see," and she nodded at more than twenty people resting in the couches, chairs and foldable deads, clearly out cold, "everyone is exhausted."

"You don't look so hot yourself, Janet."

Janet chuckled, but the levity soon faded away under the weight of what she had seen, "My grandmother had once worked in the Red Cross during World War 2, and she prayed that I would not have to see what she had seen. I understand what she meant now. Mary, I've treated more than a dozen National Guards just an hour ago, and I can still hear them screaming."

"Janet..." Marianne swept her legs over the side of the bed, taking the hot drink away from her friend before she spilt it. She was shaking so hard.

"And...and, they were crying like children, Mary. Some of them were praying. One of them was the most irreverent asshole on the face of God's green earth that I knew - and he was praying despite his injuries. The look in his eyes..."

Marianne pushed Janet down on the bed she had been previously occupying, and knelt down so that she could face Janet at eye level, "What did he say?"

"Things you would not believe if you knew him as well as I do."

The older nurse listened to her younger colleague, before finally asking if her friend had psychological problems. The latter shook her head, stating if he had a psychological problem, it was one of demented megalomania. Marianne laughed, "Don't worry. People who have suffered such life-threatening injuries tend to hallucinate. In his case, as he has always been an 'irreverent asshole', it does change the fact that he knows that what is written in the Bible is something sacred. Tell you what...I'll go freshen up and then see to him. What's his name and where is he warded?"

"Tom Christian, East Wing Emergency Ward C, Bed 12."

"On it."

"Marianne...?"

"Yes?"

"I think you are aware of this, but Tom is not the only person who is talking like this."

Marianne frowned, "I am. But this is what happens when a disaster of this magnitude strikes without warning..."

"I don't think they're lying, Mary," Janet said, walking over to a nearby table where a stack of newspapers were and searched through them, "When was the last time you read the papers?"

"Almost five days ago..."

"Then you'd better take a look at this..." Janet handed Marianne a paper dating back to the day after the earthquake. Marianne took it, and her eyes widened at the sight of the photograph that graced the front page. Inhuman creatures were fighting a young man with four wings and armed with a blazing sword.

"That picture is on every major newspaper on the planet."

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, USA, outside New York General Hospital, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 1215 hrs**_

Bruce 'Dusty' Masters shouted for help as he helped his badly-injured passenger out of his taxi. For the past five days ever since the earthquake, taxi companies all over New York had doubled as ambulances, ferrying the injured from the disaster zone to hospitals throughout the city. The man the taxi driver helped out of his taxi was bleeding badly, and the bandages the National Guard medics had bound around his shattered legs with were completely soaked with blood. Like so many others caught in the worst of the earthquake, he was in shock, unable to recognise who and where he was.

Bruce called for help again, and two medical orderlies, stationed at the reception area rushed out, their eyes bugging at the severity of the man's injuries.

"Jesus..." one of them said, "Ralph, go get a stretcher."

"I can't!"

"Why the fuck not?"

"We're all out, man! Many of those are doubling as beds 'cause the wards are packed to the ceiling!"

"Jesus! You!" the medical orderly looked in Bruce's directions, "You know first aid?"

"Shit, no!"

"Fuck! Never a better time to learn! Listen, you apply pressure. Push down like your fraggin' life depends on it. If he bleeds out, he's dead. How long was it..."

"Forty-five minutes ago!"

The medical orderly cursed, "Ralph, go back and see if we can get coalgulants in the freezer! Get a whole carton if you can!"

"But...!"

"I don't care, man. We'll plug two per bag. Now get your ass moving! If Doctor Hendersen gives you shit, you tell him to come down here and give it to me straight. Right now, I am eyeball deep in people about to die on me, and I'm not about to take his B.S. at this point in time. Now move!"

Man, Bruce thought, he swears like a marine.

The other orderly ran off, as the one next to him began to cut off the injured man's bloody bandages. Even before it was off, both men smelled a cloying honey-like scent, and the medical orderly swore a second time.

"Shit...! He's got gangrene..."

"That's not good, is it?"

"Hell, no! It's spread throughout the limb. We've got to cut it off!"

Bruce started to turn pale, "Can we not...?"

"No," the medical orderly said, "we don't. Look around you. We gotta save whom we can, as best we can. I'm gonna pump this guy full of morphine to kill the pain, and when Ralph comes back, we'll plug this guy up on coalgulants, before we proceed with the amputation. I'm going to get a bone saw."

"Hey, man...you're bloody cold, you know that?" Bruce said as the other orderly stood up and headed for a nearby medical tent.

"I know," the orderly said, "But a friend of mine once said that during situations like these," and he looked at the rows of beds that stretched for blocks, "that the most important thing is a clear mind and unshaking hands. Now, keep talking to the guy. Keep him alive for as long as you can."

When the operation began half an hour later, the sound that came from the injured man's throat, despite the anaesthetic that had been pumped into him would haunt the taxi-driver-turned-emergency driver for the rest of his life...

**X X X X X X**

_**New York City, Mayor's Office, City Hall, 24th September 1999, Thursday, 1300 hrs**_

Mayor William Goldini slammed down the telephone in a fit of rage, silencing his arguing aides almost immediately. For ever since his election to office, everyone from his aides down to the janitors that kept City Hall clean, knew that the moment the usually-unflappable mayor lost his temper, heads would roll. Each man and woman in the room hoped that the head rolling would not be his (or hers).

"What's wrong, William?" asked Chief Suprintendent Donald Ross.

"Assholes in Washington are not going to send us the support we need to deal with the disaster. They say that it's a waste of money and manpower."

"The hell...? Did you talk to the president?"

"The president is on my side, for once. He's trying to get Congress to agree, but for some strange reason, many of the senators are saying no for the reason I just mentioned," William spat, "This is not the time to be talking about the end result of the policies we implemented; we can correct them **after** we've dealt with the crisis in-hand. Donald, how are things on the ground?"

"Bad. And getting worse. The disaster areas a warzone. You've seen the papers. There's some strange shit going on there, and if eyewitness reports are to be believed, we're seeing things out of some horror movie. The media is in a frenzy. Normally, when people talk about this, they're written off as wackos, Will. But, when over a **thousand** people are talking about the same thing, it's another matter entirely. Especially when among those thousand-plus people are some of my people," Donald replied.

William walked over to a pile of newspapers that he had taken time to read during his breaks, and pulled out a newspaper dated a few days back. Splashed on the front page was a four-winged figure being overwhelmed by a mass of furred, mutated beings and other winged figures wielding blazing swords. People were being tossed aside like rag dolls or torn to pieces in the fury of the beings that assaulted the four-winged angel.

William had always been a religious man. His parents had been staunch Catholics, and had been disappointed in his decision to become a politician. That disappointment faded in time, and his father had patted him on the head on his death-bed.

**"I raised you right, after all. Now finish up your work."**

And William set about doing just that. It was a simple praise, but it meant the world to William. He'd be damned if he disappointed his father, even though the latter was 20 years in his grave. But this...this may well be beyond his scope to handle. Unemployment, crime, and a falling literacy rate - all this he could handle. But this? Even if he had a hundred years of experience under his belt in diplomacy, he could not stop this war. Hell, not even the president could!

New York City, one of the largest cities on Earth, had become a battleground between the servants of God and the champions of the Unholy Host.

William knew that if he voiced these thoughts aloud, he would be giving his political opponents the leverage they needed to remove him from office. And right now, that was the last thing he needed on his plate. Right now, he needed to show the people of New York he was one of the toughest SOBs to walk its streets. Declaring martial law was not enough; he had to put it out in force.

"Donald, can you get me the New York Times newsroom? I have an announcement to make."

"What are we talking about here?"

"An extension of curfew. All night-spots are to be closed, and I want the police and National Guard squads on the street. I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling that the situation is going to get worse."

"Will, we can't call an extension of curfew just because of your gut instinct. I trust it; hell, all of us here do. But, if we do this..."

"Don, I know. Just do as I ask, okay?"

Donald looked at the picture of the newspaper his friend was looking at. He was aware that every one in the room was as well, and their unspoken thoughts mirrored each other's. Something lurked in the shadows of their city. Something ancient and evil. This was not some fad group or kids trying to get attention. No, this was for real. The picture of a devastated Times Square, full of corpses of those unfortunate enough to be caught in the clash, was proof enough. Skeptics said that the devastation was caused by a broken gas main, but no gas main could bring down buildings. Char it, yes. Bring it down, no.

The Police Suprintendent did not say a word, and left the room. He did not want to say it either, but his friend's private suspicions may well be right on the money. Those pictures were not fake. He knew a fake, doctored picture from a real one as he could shit and chocolate. Donald was not a man given to fear, but when he saw the wild, insane wrath in the eyes of the four-winged demonic angel, and though it was through a newspaper, he felt an age-old terror swirl in his blood.

**X X X X X X**

The figure on the throne listened intently to the plans of New York City's mayor and his aides, his grey eyes thoughtful. The decision to extend the curfew was a good one. It would help prevent the chaos from spreading and, by extension, curtail any plans the Earthbound had up their sleeves to further expand their already vast area of influence. But, the fact that the mayor was putting his foot down a second time this week meant also that the situation was spiralling out of control.

Violence in the devastated areas had skyrocketed to the point that some newscasters called downtown New York the second Stalingrad. Honestly, they were not far from wrong. The gangs were taking advantage of the chaos to the hilt. Equipped with weapons from God-knows-where, they had left entire neighbourhoods so choked with corpses that it had left even hardened police-officers pale at the carnage.

But the figure knew better. He knew the invisible hands that directed these mobs. The fighting that had erupted almost immediately hours after the earthquake had all the hallmarks of the Earthbounds' schemes to cripple their enemies and reap power from the hapless mortals that saw them in all their monstrous glory.

There was no doubt about it. The Earthbound were making their move. The Fallen Courts of New York City were ill-prepared for the scale of the assault; no, rather they **had** expected it, but not at this magnitude. They had not been prepared for the Earthbound, selfish to the core, to work together. He had tried to convince the Courts, but his word against full-fledged Fallen had counted for less than nothing. The only thing he could do was mobilise his own retinue, and inform his family. The latter had sent in three of his siblings and their immediate retinues, which included several Fallen and their demonic servitors.

That delaying action had given the Courts time to mobilise, and had won him much political leverage in the Courts. The Regent had been so **furious** with his Court's infighting that he had deposited several key members back to Hell to make their excuses to the Morningstar himself, who had explicitly ordered that the Earthbound be exterminated with extreme prejudice upon discovery. Any and all personal vendettas were to be put aside until the Earthbound in question was either destroyed, or grovelling - chained and beaten an inch unto Final Death - before the King of Hell.

Nevertheless, to fight against beings as monstrously powerful as the Earthbound was not without price, as Fell Knight Kiall Spiritblade had found out. Even the lowest of their thralls possessed was powerful enough to give a vampire a hard time - and those the Earthbound had in plenty. One of his sisters was badly injured and was resting in her quarters after such an encounter. Her retinue had barely gotten out of such a clash alive. Had a friendly Black Whirlwind pack not been in the area, his family would mourn the loss of one of its daughters.

"Lord Kiall?"

The young Fell Knight looked up, to see several dark shapes within his throne hall. A woman stepped forth, the torch-light gleaming from the serrated spikes of her shoulder and leg guards. Dark hair cascaded to shapely hips and over the silver-steel tiars, and over her cruel blades.

"Da'rasha. You have returned. Report."

"Princess Skia is unable to aid you. Your half-sister and her retinues are caught in a battle with a rising vampire Ancient."

"Another one...? Which one?"

"I believe it was the Nosferatu Ancient."

"She's really going to have problems, then. Da'rasha."

"Master?"

"We're leaving this country. There's nothing we can do here. Skia will need my help more. If she cannot contain this Ancient, we will have another problem that we cannot afford to have. Inform the Regent of this city. Tell him there are pressing matters we must see to."

"What if the Regent says no, my lord?"

"He knows that what has happened here is his fault for not keeping the political backstabbing amongst his subordinates to a minimum. If we do not give him a chance to clean up his own mess, **he** will be the next person facing our King."

"You're trying to take his place as the city's Regent, aren't you?"

Kiall smiled, slyly, but did not answer. Da'rasha chuckled, and bowed elaborately, acknowledging the unspoken answer. Her Kabal had served the Spiritblade family for generations, acting as bodyguards, trainers, teachers and lovers. Several of her sisters had borne children for the scions of the Bloody Angel's family that they had dubbed worthy of their affections. Da'rasha turned her mind to the battle that was to come. It would be hard, certainly, but it would be glorious. They would be hunting a vampire Ancient of the First House of Caine. How many, Fallen or otherwise, would be able to boast of such an encounter, let alone a kill?

Da'rasha's purple lips curved in a satisfied smile as she and her sisters left Kiall's throne hall to carry out their orders. The gleam in their eyes told her that her fellow Dusk Blades were looking forward to the hunt - and the aftermath as well.

**X X X X X X**

_**Israel, the Golan Heights, The Cathedral of Lucifer, 25th September 1999, 0230 hrs**_

Wesley looked around him, unable to believe his eyes. His contacts had said that the site would be guarded, but what he saw was what was **left** of the site's guardians. Every man and women had been butchered, and the spent shell-casings on the ground bespoke of a terrible struggle. Bodies were impaled on the end of serrated spears ornate with hateful sigils that Wesley had seen before. The cold night air was heavy with the scent of blood, cordite and the sulphur - the last emanating from unnatural flames that caused the very ground they burnt to **rot** at its unholy touch.

"What in God's name - ?"Jeanette Dover's voice was shaky, unable to believe the scale of the carnage. There were more than a hundred bodies littering the valley. Over a dozen Israeli Army trucks, humm-vees and three Merkava tanks were blackened, burning wrecks. Wesley and his companions walked through the ruined military base. Sings-the-Dawn approached one of the butchered soldiers and pulled out the spear that pinned him to the Earth. The look of horror on his face bespoke of his disbelief and terror of the adversary his weapon could not defeat. The Red Indian Shaman recognised the weapon, and tossed it over to Wesley. The ex-Cardinal caught it, gave it a cursory glance, and slammed it, tip-first, into the ground.

"Ebon Legion Blackguards..." Wesley spat, "From the looks of things, those beasts were here not too long ago."

A strangled gasp caused a multitude of weapons to be turned on the direction of the voice. A bedraggled woman, her uniform torn, emerged from the wreckage. Blood poured from a multitude of wounds. One slender arm grasped an assault rifle, and her face clearly showed that she had lived through her worst nightmare. Despite her injuries, the soldier whipped up her assault rifle with astounding speed, her eyes wild. Duran was there before she could pull the trigger, pulling the weapon out of her grasp with ease. A karate chop to the back of the injured woman sent her toppling to the ground.

"Duran!" Alys shouted, her feline eyes narrowing, her nails lengthening to three-inch talons.

"Don't worry. I did not kill her, Alys," the half-vampire replied, "Right now, the last thing we need is for someone to know that we are here in this country."

"But that was no reason to..."

"No, Duran is right," Morrigan said, kneeling down and turning the injured woman over, "Right now, we **cannot** afford anyone revealing our presence here. Israel is a country under the shadow of the Inquisition. No doubt his 'betrayal' is already known here. Should they be aware, leaving this country will be as hard as it was entering it."

"But..."

"I understand how you feel, Alys, but this is not the best time to bicker about who is right or wrong," Silana said, addressing her daughter. A cold wind blew through the valley, causing the supernaturals in Wesley's party to look up, the promise of impending violence in their eyes.

"What's wrong?" Jeanette asked, before Silana and her daughter transformed before the professor's startled eyes into their war-forms (or _Crinos_, as they called it). Had it not been for Sings-the-Dawn's hypnotic rites that allowed her to endure the sight of these primal beasts, she would have lost her mind to the Delirium, and run blindly into the darkness of the Golan Heights in a blind panic.

Silana-Calaster and her daughter now stood over seven feet in heigh, smaller than their massive werewolf cousins, but their every movement bespoke of terrifying grace and strength. Their golden manes of hair crowned their feline heads, cascading over their lean, furred bodies like sun-kissed waters. From their hips, long tails swished from side to side. But, if there was one difference between mother and daughter, it was that the latter had a pair of slender horns emerging from her temples. Before Jeanette's disbelieving eyes, both of them drew weapons from a rift torn in the fabric of reality, runes of power glowing on their fur-covered hands.

Morrigan was glaring into the darkness, her nails lengthened into three-inch talons similar to Silana and her daughter's. Multi-coloured flames swirled around her hands, crackling with vicious violence. Duran and Fala had their guns out, their enhanced senses piercing the darkness and the silence.

"There is blood in the wind, Wesley," Silana hissed, "You were right. The Blackguards are still here, hiding in the mountains' shadows..."

"How many of them are there?" Wesley asked, "I sense them, but not their exact location."

"I can estimate over thirty of them but the air is thick with Corruption. It makes it difficult to tell if there are more," Silana-Calaster replied.

"There will be," Wesley said, "We must leave before daybreak. If we don't we may face more than Blackguards."

It did not take long for Wesley and his companions to find the barred gates that led to the Cathedral, and for the excommunicated Cardinal to literally kick the door down. Even Morrigan, used to violence and the fury of beings mightier than herself, flinched at the display. Doors of stone quarried from unknown realms crumbled beneath the blow, echoing throughout the empty mountain like a thunderclap.

Wesley raised one hand, wreathing in flame, and raised it high, illuminating the abyssal darkness of its interiors. Cold air, ancient and full of malice, seemingly whispered in his ears, welcoming him back to the place where the Order of St. Michael had died, mocking him for his foolish daring in returning.

He looked at his companions, who were awed into silence at the grandeur of the Black Cathedral, unable to believe that such a place existed. No human hands could have crafted this place. It was vast, with its massive pillars thrown up in elegant curves and swirls, bespeaking of such sturdy strength that they could have held up Heaven itself. Its elegant beauty was the one thing humanity saw only in its dreams, as it made numerous attempts through the centuries to replicate such perfection. Thousands of unused candelebras made of bone hung from the high ceilings, untouched by the many centuries that had passed them by.

Wesley raised his hand, and unleashed a torrent of fiery bolts that lit each and every one down the long corridors.

"I cannot believe this. This place...it's enormous...!" Jeannette whispered in awe.

Now, fully lit, the entire scene they saw was fully revealed. While the rest of his companions struggled to digest the sight before them, Wesley only walked forward into the cathedral, each step echoing the ones in his memory. The carnage he beheld minutes ago was the scene of a massacre brought about my trusted friends and colleagues turning on each other, a prelude to him and four others entering this very place where an unholy artifact rested. Not far behind them, hot on their heels, were elements of the Inquisition's finest, Galford's followers and the Servants of the Archenemy.

He, Aoshi and Tsubaki had not gone past the fifth level of the cathedral. They had stood their ground there, holding all those who would claim the Sword of Lucifer from going any further. Only Shateiel and Rabbi Helmraz had gone down to the lower levels. What did they see there? What horrors lied sleeping in the bowels of this cursed place?

Wesley knew that, in a place such as this, where Evil once held court, it was a logical question to ask. He had strode this place in his dreams, and for many years, those dreams would end with him standing by the gateway that led to the Cathedral's lower-levels, staring down into the stygian darkness. Always there, wrapped in shadow, holding the sword of the the ruler of Hell himself, would be his friend, smiling at him mockingly.

Always he had wondered what they had seen there. What could have driven Helmraz, a man whose composure and mental fortitude was stronger than his, insane? The only explanation he could give was that his mind had been on the verge of snapping after all he - and everyone in the Order of St. Michael - had experienced and seen. Shateiel, once one of the generals of the Unholy Host, had the mental fortitude and strength of will that everyone in the Order of St. Michael lacked. His time spent in the service of the Morningstar had inured him to evil and cruelty.

_**"I was marked by one of the Morningstar's daughters herself; the anima banner you see when I take my Divine Aspect reminds me forever after that I cannot escape my pact even if I die. But, the old phrase that do what thou wilt is the whole of the law holds true in Hell. But, it is hard to leave, Wesley...**_

_**"The temptation of Hell is that it **__**can**__** offer what you ask for - anything at all - for a price. Mine was to wield power capable of splintering Creation, and to send the man who gave me life into Final Death."**_

Wesley closed his eyes as he strode towards the enormous, ornate gateway that led to the second level.

_**"Yes...I wanted more than anything to kill my father. Are you surprised, Wesley? I **__**am**__** capable of killing my own kin, and more than two dozen I have sent to Final Death. Yes, even my mother."**_

Behind him, his companions followed him hastily.

_**"I am a monster, Wesley. I am an enemy of God and His servants. Your saving me is perhaps the stupidest thing you could have done in all your life. Not only have you given reason for your fellows to doubt you, but you have brought a serpent into their midst."**_

In the second level, he raised his arm once more, wreathed in flame, and lit the candelebras, scones and torch-stands that yet remained, bathing the massive hallways with light.

_**"But for now, for what you have done, I will fight for you. I will teach you what you need to know in order to prevail. And when all is said and done, we shall see if God is as forgiving as you believe Him to be."**_

The second level was as vast as the first, stretching far into the distance. It was as vast as he remembered it. Titanic statues of demonic angels, larger than the human-sized ones on the first level, gazed down upon them from gigantic archways, each almost seven stories high. Each one was clad as he remembered them twenty years ago, their armour and robes emphasising the perfection of their angelic forms touched by Corruption. That forbidden beauty was one that had led the foolish and the unwise to their doom.

Wesley stopped, and looked at the same statue that had once mesmerised him. Standing in the centre of what had once been a fountain, a woman with soft, cascading hair of blue stone and lush curves with the lower extremities of a snake held a handsome man in her coils, his face in her hands. Slender horns grew from her temples, sweeping backwards like an elegant brushstroke, and seven massive wings brushed the high ceiling.

Behind him, his companions came to a stop.

"Wesley...?" Rasha spoke, looking at the melancholic face of the older man. His eyes were far away, distant, haunted. She turned to look at the statue he looked upon, memories of a past life returning to her. A younger Wesley stood before it, with the last of the Order of St. Michael. The months spent in the Holy Land, fighting back an evil that was growing stronger, walking over the bodies of their friends, to reach this cursed place.

She remembered their faces, their torn, tattered robes fluttering in the cold wind that blew out from the underworld, their weapons crossed, one over the other. Stern, cold Aoshi Shinomori, his blue eyes gleaming in the darkness. Mighty, fell Shateiel, general of the Unholy Host, his amber eyes and dark hair fierce with conviction. Beautiful and regal, silver-haired Tsubaki Aozumi, who had led Shateiel to believe that there was a chance to leave the Darkness and make his own way in this world. Firm, devout Aziel Helmraz, whose bearded face bespoke of his refusal to yield.

And around them, the ghosts of their fallen companions.

They had been waiting here, in the darkness, for twenty years. Michael, Randall, Lisa, and all the rest. In their mind's eye, garbed in their robes and armour, they readied themselves for a war they could no longer fight in.

"Praise be to God," Wesley spoke, "For His Will and His Word is supreme in all Creation. For you who fight in His name shall earn a place by His side in the afterlife. And though you have sinned, know, my friends, that you are forgiven your trespasses. I am here, my friends, to make the last throw of the dice. Give me your blessings, and know that whatever the outcome, the Adversary shall not have his victory so easily."

_**To be continued...**_


	12. Confrontations, Part 2

_**Angel Halo - Time of Judgment**_

_**Chapter 6, Part 2: Innocent Blood**_

_**Written by Spiritblade**_

_**Author's Note: **_Okay, this is it...the hammer falls.

No more talk.

Heaven or Hell, let's Rock.

This entire story is Round (or Draft) 1. And rest assured, I'll make Round 2 even better. Quality work - and nothing less. And yes, this chapter, and the next, is about the other characters in the story. They're not important to the main outcome, but the old phrase that the actions of men and women can change the world they live in.

**X X X X X X**

_**Golan Heights, Israel, Cathedral of Lucifer, 25th September 1999, 0230 hrs**_

_**"In some rare occult texts dating back to the time of Christ, you will find several treatises regarding the War in Heaven. Many have been destroyed, whether by time or by the hand of the Church, but I remember the details in many of those books. How was it...? I lived for centuries, Wesley. The passage of time in Hell is different from that of Creation's.**_

_**"'The one who fell from Heaven became Pandemonium'. Those were the words spoken during an interview with a demon named Chrono, whose name was legendary long before I was born, in the days after the Usurpation, when he and his twin brother murdered one of the daughters of the Morningstar.**_

_**"Knowledge is power. That saying is truer than you know, for with knowledge comes the capacity of the wielder to break free of chains that make him a slave. The Church enjoys a monopoly of that which should be shared; they have, instead of freeing the laity from fear, used knowledge which they have twisted to their own ends, to bring them into line.**_

_**"It is not as if Islam or Judaism is any better. Their founders were good men; I have spoken with them. They knew who I was and did not condemn me out of hand. Rather, they asked me if this was the life I would have chosen if I had a choice."**_

Wesley gazed up at the massive frieze that dominated the entire wall of the third level. It was a scene of a glorious time before Lucifer rose up against his Creator. To the loyalist angels, that frieze was a reminder a long-gone era when Creation was young and so full of hope. To the rebel angels and their servants, it was a reminder of a glorious era that will be theirs again after they had cast God down and installed their Prince as the new God.

He looked back at Jeanette, who stared at it in awe.

The frieze on the opposite wall showed Lucifer gathering those who would stand with him when he launched his rebellion. So many had joined... It was an assembly of might that would shake the very foundations of Creation.

_**"It is said in the Bible that a third of the stars in Heaven were cast down in the aftermath, but perhaps the truth was that it was God's army that was outnumbered. And with so much of humanity on the side of the Morningstar and his Archdukes, it was a foregone conclusion as to who would win.**_

_**"How did they lose? Simple. They became monsters. As the war dragged on, nothing remained of the glorious beings that promised the mortals who served them freedom from God's tyranny. They themselves became tyrants. Their human servants and slaves began to turn on them. This allowed God the time He needed to swell the Holy Host with fresh troops.**_

_**"God had drawn Lucifer and his Legions into a trap without them realizing it. Every victory won by the Unholy Host was the seed of its future defeat. Revolts, rebellions and assassinations cut the legs from under the Unholy Host. Men and women trained to kill angels soon turned the skills taught to them by their demonic overlords on their former masters."**_

Wesley strode to the gateway that led to the next level. It was enormous, easily as large as an apartment block. The statues of hooded angels towered over them, larger than the statues they had seen on the second level. A moat made of emptiness that stretched into the depths of the earth and a drawbridge made of stone stood before them, marking the antechamber of the Cathedral proper. The drawbridge was immense, easily allowing at least a hundred men to walk abreast. A barbican complex towered over them, the sundered stone and gates bespeaking that a fierce battle had once been fought here.

Like the first two levels, weapons and armor used in a war remembered only in legend laid scattered on the ground. Man, angel and demon had clashed here in a titanic struggle in the last days of the War of Wrath. It was not God that had won the war, Shateiel had once told him. It had been His servants. Loyalist angels and God's human armies had hoisted the battle-flags of the Holy Host throughout the formidable defenses that had spanned the entire - and beyond the - Golan Heights.

_**"God could have ended the War with one sweep of His Hand, but He knew that the moment he got involved, all of Creation would burn. There would have been nothing left."**_

Wesley remembered a thesis hidden in the Vaults of the Vatican, written by an archivist that was imprisoned and later burned at the stake. It correlated with what Shateiel had told him. God had commanded Lucifer's twin brother, the Archangel Michael, to lead the armies of Heaven to victory, even as the Creator prepared to bring more angels into being to swell the outnumbered loyalist armies of Heaven. It was a bitter struggle, the echo of which would forever scar the human psyche in its intensity and madness.

But, Shateiel said, it was a time of heroes and villains with convictions. It was a time when to die for one's beliefs exalted one's soul before God Himself, regardless of allegiance. Faith was not an empty thing as it was in the modern age - it was the driving force of rebel and loyalist alike. It was the one thing that made grand civilizations lost in the mists of time. It drove and demanded excellence and perfection.

It was a harsh age, coinciding with the vampiric legends of the First City, when crimson overlords reigned over humanity and great swathes of territory. A time when the glory of the springtime of Creation was forgotten and mighty shape-shifters, like the vampire Ancients, sought to impose their rule over humanity, so as to bring that blessed era back. Mages with the power to shake Creation took sides in the War, unleashing Charms and performing rituals that would become the stuff of apocalyptic literature. And through those eras, beings of dreams watched in quiet, stunned awe, committing all that was said and done to tome and ledger, to inspire a billion generations after the War ended to dream and reach for the impossible.

But, the stories those fae would write would end soon. Even now, Wesley knew they had committed their champions to the fray, in the hopes that a cold, cruel world would live on, and that its people would continue to believe.

"Wesley, what happened here...?" Jeanette finally spoke, after an hour of awed silence, "This place looks like a war took place here..."

"A war **did** take place here, Jeanette," Wesley replied, stopping at last and directing his next words to his companions, "We'll stop for a while. Don't wander off. This place may **look** empty, but it isn't. The spirits that remain here are as potent as when they were alive, and none of them are the sort who would entertain a conversation."

Silana-Calaster and her daughter looked about, their gleaming eyes wary. They could feel the ageless hate and anger of the spirits. Both began chanting softly, and Silana reached into a pouch and threw a handful of salt on the ground, which immediately spread out in a circle, taking runes and sigils of warding.

"I promised to show you what drove your father mad, professor, and I wanted to tell you the real story as to **what** and **how** he was driven mad. Your father's journals hold a fraction of the whole truth. Do you remember him mentioning something in his journals about a 'sword that could sunder worlds'?"

"Yes, briefly. Why?"

"Because the sword he spoke about exists. I have seen it in my friend's hands when we went our separate ways."

**X X X X X X**

_**Crimson Lotus Base, New York abandoned subway network, 1430 hrs, 24**__**th**__** September 1999**_

Gunfire, incantations and the sounds of clashing steels echoed throughout the tunnels as Sheik and his Servants engaged the vampire Ancients in the tunnels. The battle was ferocious, and neither side was giving way. The purpose of their assault was simple - direct the vampire Ancient's attention to them. Make it realize that they were a threat that, if not dealt with, would prove to the worst mistake in its long unlife. And, considering the horde that was being thrown his way, Sheik could safely say that he had gotten the Ancient's full attention. He could feel the angry presence of the vampiric demigod that slept beneath the city, heard the hiss through the air that it would not be denied its feast.

Feast or not, the Battlemage intended to give the Ancient a severe case of indigestion; he would be damned before he let it get its arms - or whatever appendage that serves as its arms - on the ninjas of the _Kagerou-Shiki_. Even now, Caster was in the midst of stabilizing the portal that would allow them to leave the city. She had found it impossible to open a gateway as far as Japan; the best Caster could do was open a gate **outside** the city itself. The advantages of doing so outweighed the advantages presented by the second option of opening a gateway to Japan itself. Now, all that Caster needed was an anchor; the task of setting it had fallen to Demonic Rider, Kirara and Servant Lancer. Camael had been less than happy at the thought of splitting her forces, but understood the reasoning of removing a possible obstacle.

The Crimson Lotus was nothing less than that. If they remained, Camael knew that her host would be unable to fight at his best. It irritated the Fallen, even as she understood, at how loyal her host could be to people who hated him. But, he bore that hate without complaint or regret. To do more would be foolish; to do otherwise would be impossible. It is the splinter that made the wound bleed and remind the hated forever after of wrongs that cannot be righted. Arms strengthened by Discipline and inhuman training raised long, bulky machine gun, the runes and sinuous sigil-script on its black, armored casing glowing with thunderous power. It had been a chore to forge it, but her host had been intrigued by the weapon she had once used during the War against Heaven. Admittedly nowhere close in power to her lost weapon, it was nevertheless a dangerous weapon - as the mutated servants of the vampire Ancient found out to their detriment. Steely skin reinforced by Discipline and Charm simply fell apart under the soul-slaying rounds of the Dragonheart.

Camael felt her host's dislike for the Dragonheart, knowing that to murder souls - even those of monsters - went against everything he stood for. But, to use his Charms in his current state was suicide. If he fell, the Crimson Lotus would not be able to hold back the Ancient's mutated hordes. Without releasing the trigger, Sheik swept the gun across the swiftly advancing horde as his Servants fell back.

The rebel angel paused. Was that uneasiness and fear she felt in Sheik? It was clearly apparent that he had been in such a situation before. The terrible wrath, intensified further by Camael's Torment, was more potent than poison and acid combined. The look of shock in the eyes of the Servants told Camael that they felt it as well. A mutant leapt down from a nearby ledge, its tentacle-arm raised to crush the human it was descending swiftly upon.

"Master…!" Kurenai shouted in alarm, moving in to intercept the creature.

Sheik raised an arm and crushed the creature into a ball with a gravitational Charm before hurling its broken carcass like a comet into the advancing, endless horde of mutants. It did not matter to the Battlemage. The Ancient would run out of pawns long before his wrath had run its course. For in these dark tunnels, like those so many years ago, the memory of a girl he had been forced to kill returned with the force of a hurricane, causing the psychic walls he had raised to crumble. Camael saw the memories of her host; the ones he held more precious than any victory he would have after those precious days.

And it took the form of one Tsukikage Mai, a lovely, vivacious kunoichi who had been one of the Crimson Lotus's finest demon-hunters. The image of her was glorious, defiant, even at the very end when her inhuman enemies had reduced her to nothing more than a breeder. The way those eyes, once so strong, begging Sheik to kill her before she birthed an inhuman beast whose every breath and action would be a curse on the human race.

Sheik did it. Before Camael's spirit eyes, the rebel angel saw her host murder the person he loved the most, and the ancient, blackened soul of the female devil felt a lancing pain that sent her reeling. When the blinding light of divine flames faded, the Battlemage had turned to face the advancing horde of mutants and Black Whirlwind were-beasts with a rage that was beyond blinding. There had been over three hundred mutants and were-beasts in that warren, many of those powerful monsters that would have gutted the best of the Tyrant's mortal warriors.

But, that had not stopped Sheik. When the sun had set, the warren was barren of life, its monstrous inhabitants reduced to bloody piles of charred flesh and bone.

Camael understood her host's desire to avenge his lover, but it was the first time in uncounted millennia that she could remember love. She knew lust and desire, was familiar with it, but not this. Not this warm and tender emotion that had seen mortals sell their very souls for a draught that would fade with their final breath. When had she forgotten? And was that the reason why her Prince had soul-bound her to this Battlemage?

The knowing look that had perplexed her then made sense now. Sheik could teach her the lessons that he could not. A human served as a better teacher where a **half**-human could not, especially when the latter lived by the same code that Camael had, in a land where love and mercy were nothing more than weaknesses to be exploited. But…what was the lesson her Prince intended for her to learn? The female rebel angel watched Sheik fight. She watched as he and his Servants cut down endless waves of monsters that could only be created in the sickest mind. He did not take a step back.

And once upon a time, so long ago, for a cause she had made her own, Camael had done the same thing. At that moment, the female rebel angel made her choice. It was time to forge her own future, with her own hands. And the only way to do it was to do it the only way she knew how – by fighting.

**X X X X X X**

_**Central Park North subway station, 1445, 24**__**th**__** September 1999**_

_"You are instructed to bring him to us, dead or alive, Justicar Wynona. The Mage Prince of Singapore has promised you the Contracts of 3 Servants and 10 million dollars in gold and jewels should you complete the task. Refusal is not an option."_

"Not an option, my ass," the woman grumbled as she descended into the subway station, remembering the Convocation of the Mage Princes several days before, and the orders given to her and her fellow Justicars to hunt down those whose actions were a threat to the powers that be. Each Justicar had been given names and the authority to bring them to the Russian capital of Moscow, where they would be tried and punished.

Problem was, the renegades were not about to obey just because so high-and-mighty asshole with a high-and-mighty title told them to surrender. A good number of them renegades deserved to swing from the end of a rope, Wynona knew, but not the one she had been sent to hunt. When she first heard the report, she couldn't believe it...but her agents later on confirmed that he had indeed killed Mage Prince Jason's lieutenant and members of his retinue. Even their Servants had been slain.

Thing was, the Mage Prince's lickspittles had struck first. She knew that Sheik Muhammad would **never** strike the first blow, period, unless the person he faced was a confirmed enemy. By which point, all bets were off. The other party would severely regret antagonizing him. Sheik's Servants would cut him to pieces faster than their Master could unleash his considerable repertoire of Charms.

That brought about the second question – why exactly did his Servants not materialize during that particular confrontation? Sheik was particularly close to his Servants. Especially the female ones, Wynona thought libidinously, remembering the disapproving looks and remarks the more conservative Magi had cast those who had gone so far as the treat Servants as equals. Servants, they had said, were nothing more than tools, to be used and cast aside when they were no longer needed. Only the young, the naive and the foolish would think of those beings as being anything more.

Wynona was not part of the conservative faction. Their outdated way of thinking and acting rubbed her the wrong way, period. What kind of fantasy world did those arrogant pricks live in? This was **not** Dungeons and Dragons. This was for real. You fuck up here and you spend the rest of your sorry life pushing daisies. Mages did not have a good relationship - or a good reputation, for that matter - with a lot of the supernatural critters that they shared the world with.

The Justicar Mage stopped in her tracks, flinching as she looked upon the gruesome sight before. There were bodies everywhere, many in advanced stages of decomposition. Flies and maggots writhed in gruesome wounds caused either by inhuman hands or collapsing rubble. It was the wounds caused by the former that caught Wynona's attention.

"Stalker, appear..."

A female Servant, clad in leather amour overlaid by a crimson mantle and holding a crossbow, materialized behind her. Long, elven ears poked out of a head crowned by cascading silver hair, and blazing eyes of starlight framed a delicate face whose complexion was the hue of twilight. Sinuous sigils of gold could be seen on her long, well-developed legs and her well-muscled arms.

"Master…?"

"What caused these wounds?" Wynona asked.

The Servant knelt and inspected them even as Wynona summoned her four other Servants. She was about to enter hostile territory; no need to hide the big guns when they were already needed. Wynona's other servants consisted of an armored Saber-class Knight equipped with a broadsword and tower shield adorned with the symbol of a crown and a cross, a Rider-class clad in the furs of a Mongolian tribesman, a female Archer-class wearing a tight bodice, trousers and leather boots and finally, an Angelic Caster, his powerful frame clad in robes and armor. Each of them inclined their heads in greeting towards her and took defensive positions, sensing that the area they were in dangerous waters.

Wynona's Stalker Servant soon returned to her, and the latter told her had the eyes of the former narrowing. When the head of the Stalker perked up, and Caster uttered a curse, Wynona swung her MG-34 from her shoulder to a ready position.

"What is it...?"

"Did you hear that, Stalker?" Caster asked.

"I **felt** it. The mana burst...it's incredible. Could it be him?"

"There's no Mage in this bloody city that has a power level that high..."

Wynona's eyes widened when she realized who it was her Servants were talking about, "Where is he, Stalker?"

As if to answer her question, the wall opposite the boarding platform suddenly exploded outwards, sending car-sized slabs of concrete smashing through the train station with astounding force, tearing through the underground station's pillars. Wynona's Saber Servant leapt forward, raising his massive shield and calling upon his Charms to deflect the lethal projectiles. Neither his fellow Servants nor his Master saw the form that crashed into the wall on the opposite end until the avalanche of concrete ended - and a host of Servants leapt through the hole, their appearance a clear indication that they had had a hell of a day.

The sound of concrete being thrown aside behind Wynona caused the Mage to see Sheik rise from the ashes, angry as hell, and upon seeing her, saw confusion set in as well - a look that was shared by his Servants when they realized that another Mage and her Servants were in the vicinity. Wynona's eyes widened at the sight of the glorious figure that hovered over Sheik, and her mind replayed interviews with mages who had been lucky enough to survive an encounter with such a being.

Wynona knew that Sheik was not powerful enough to control such a being, nor was he crazy enough to even try. And she knew that he was not so power-hungry that he would sell his soul for power; power, he had once told her, is treasured when it is earned. Thus, that had left but one explanation - one that the Conclave of the Mage Princes had feared above all others. Sheik had been possessed. It would take a spirit of monstrous power to break the wards that were woven into the fabric of a Mage's soul, but it could be done. But when exactly the possession had taken place, Wynona did not know. She could only suspect that it had happened when Sheik had gone to north Asia to bring a centuries-long feud to an end. That was when she started receiving reports from her compatriots and contacts in Singapore that everything about her friend had changed.

Eyes blazing with hate, she brought her MG-34 to bear on the friend she had lost. The warmth and welcome in the eyes of the latter faded the moment he saw the bitter rage in her eyes and the machine gun that was being pointed at him. The roar of her gun firing drowned out the pained whisper as her friend spoke her name. The ensuing struggle between the two Mages and their Servants caused an explosion of sorcerous energy that caused even the advancing vampire Ancient to retreat before its already considerable injuries were made worse. Right now, several of its children - those who refused to obey their God - and a large band of vampires belonging to his kin were a more immediate concern...

**X X X X X X**

_**Basilica of St. Michael, New York Central, 1500 hrs, 24th September 1999, Thursday**_

"I cannot believe we made it here alive…" one of the Inquisitors said as he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat, "There are enough creeps, crazies and beasties running loose out there to make a B-Grade horror movie look tame. Had it not been for Captain Victoria's team, we would have been toast…and the Avatar would be in the clutches of the Archenemy."

"Too true," his companion, a woman with purple hair, replied before taking another gulp of water, "New York will spell the end of the Masquerade. There is **no** **way** that what is happening out there will go unnoticed. Eyewitness reports, the total destruction of Times Square, the one big bloody hole in the north Central…the shit has finally hit the fan…"

"But maybe some good can come out of it," a younger man, wearing the uniform of the Militia said, as he slapped a new clip into his assault rifle, "we can bring the full weight of humanity…"

"Who are not prepared to face the kind of horrors we are used to facing, Colin," a voice spoke, causing heads to whip about and weapons to be cocked and drawn. The empty space beside Colin shimmered briefly, before a lean figure appeared. Jaws dropped. On the lapel of the woman's long jacket (which had seen better days) was a symbol of a cross impaling the head of a goat. A sheathed broadsword and a Colt Python hung from her shapely hips.

The woman had long, red-hair and blue eyes – as well as a scar running from her upper left temple to her lower jaw.

"Commander Steiner…?" Colin squeaked, recognizing her instantly. The eyes of everyone in the room widened at the mention of the woman's name. More than a few exchanged looks asking the unasked question as to why this woman – who was the leader of **the** elite Constellation Teams – here in New York. The woman was none other than Lara Rommel Steiner, a German woman with over two decades of experience fighting the servants of the Archenemy. Why was she here…?

"When did you arrive, commander?" one of the female Inquisitors in the room asked, "Weren't you…?"

"I **was**," Lara replied, the edge in her voice warning everyone not to push the matter further, "until Rome re-deployed me and my team to where I could be of most 'help'. My team and I had to fight over ten kilometers of hostile ground. I've lost contact with Lilia and her team. I wanted to go back out and find her, but the Chapter Master here has ordered me and my team to stay within the grounds…"

A somber silence descended on the room. There was no doubt in their minds as to the fate of Lilia and her compatriots. Everyone in the Inquisition knew what the servants of the Archenemy did to female prisoners. They would rape them, break them, and impregnate them with inhuman seed. And if the female in question was a soldier of God, they would take particular delight in making her suffer.

Suddenly, the entire church shook as an explosive roar and a pillar of flame several blocks wide shot skywards. Books fell from their shelves, and the candle-holders toppled. Those who had been standing fought to keep their balance, so powerful was the shockwave. Buildings that had been on the verge of collapse finally did, and Militia units stationed nearby hastily abandoned their positions before they were buried beneath tons of concrete.

When the tremors finally subsided a minute, Lara pulled herself to her feet. As she was facing the window, she saw a massive plume of smoke rising to the air before voicing out the question that was on everyone's mind, "What the Hell was that…?"

_**On the roof of the St. Michael Basilica, at that very moment**_

Captain Alexandra Volsheka of the 12th Firebird Militia Company, New York Branch, had been forced to use her Disciplines to levitate herself before the earthshaking explosion threw her all ten stories to the hard ground below. Not that she wouldn't survive it, but the fact that she would have left her stomach ten stories up was not something she wanted to feel a second time in as many days. The last operation in China's province had forced her and her compatriots to practically fly in from Russia and parachute into Chinese territory to avoid alerting the servants of the Archenemy. And that had been only a month ago.

And now, this!

If the explosion that shook the city for fifty blocks in every direction was any indication, Alexandra knew that the stakes had escalated astronomically. She reached for her belt, and spoke several words through the two-way communications Charm, "Tracy, you there?"

"Yeah…" came a garbled reply, "But I'm still seeing fucking Jupiter, so give me a while…Jesus, what the hell was that…?"

"Hiroshima happened, Tracy. Someone downtown decided to play with a fucking powerful Charm…and it backfired. At least, that's what I think happened…" Alexandra said, "Give me a sit-rep. How's everyone?"

"We're fine, save that our ears feel like they've been busted…" a second voice belonging to Alexandra's lieutenant, Karamov, spoke, "We'll have to re-deploy. The defensive line is compromised. I don't know what the fuck Galford is thinking about defending this area with every Charm and gun we can put together…"

"…but we're not in the position to argue with the higher-ups in Rome. If you have any misgivings, talk to Bauer. She'll be more than willing to entertain you," Alexandra replied sharply. Karamov went quiet. That would put that fool in his place, the Russian woman thought. Alexandra had never had a good relationship with Karamov Volkav, who she viewed as boorish and undisciplined. The man was older than her by over a decade, and had been a friend to Cardinal Wesley back in the days when the Order of St. Michael had still been around.

Karamov disliked Bauer. The way she shot up to the rank of Inquisitor-General in so short a time bespoke of the backroom, political maneuvering that had no place in the Army of God. Bauer, he had once told her, was and is a formidable field commander – that much Karamov was willing to concede – but the girl was way too inexperienced to take the mantle of Inquisitor-General. It was a view shared by many, despite the fact that Bauer had proven herself time and time again.

"I will," Karamov replied, almost causing Alexandra to lose her step. She bit back a virulent curse, and was about to shout into the Charm when the soft glow of light faded, indicating that Karamov had terminated the link. Alexandra rubbed her forehead. Now was not a good time to get a headache. The sound of a boot on stone told the Paladin that someone was approaching. She turned to see Galford Eisenland, the one who successfully captured the Avatar, step into view.

"Dissension in the ranks, Alex?" the latter asked.

"A minor disagreement, that's all," Alexandra replied, putting aside the Charm, "Now, that minor…distraction aside, I have a few things to ask you, Galford."

"Shoot."

"I want to know what exactly your plans are. Why have you brought the Avatar here instead of killing her when you found her? I've spoken with the Chapter Master of the New York branch. They know the details of your plans, but when I asked them what they are, they immediately clammed up and told me that it's none of my business. The nerve of them…!"

"I see nothing wrong in them telling you to mind your own affairs, Alexa," Galford said, "You are asking a question that is way above your rank. It is enough for you to know that we are doing God's Will by smiting His enemies and upsetting the Adversary's scheme to overthrow Him."

"That is not the point!" Alexandra fired back, "I know you know something, Galford, and you'd better start talking if you know what's good for you!"

Galford raised an eyebrow, his body language suggesting as to how the Russian woman came to the conclusion that he was hiding something. The latter was more than willing to oblige, and brought up mention of the Throne-class barriers the former had brought with him. Those Barriers, she added, were difficult to craft and were to be used only in extreme circumstances. They were so powerful that they could cripple any servant of Darkness up to a Category 6 Fallen. Even Satan himself would be sent reeling from barriers' potency. It shortcoming, however, was deadly. The barriers were indiscriminate. The Charms struck down both friend and foe with the force of a nuclear missile.

Not only that, there was enough blessed rounds for every pistol and gun used by the New York Militia in the Basilica to start and win a war. The Chapter Masters were gating in more weapons and ammunition from Rome's underground forges even now. It was clear that they were preparing for a titanic confrontation. And, Alexandra thought inwardly, if the explosion minutes ago was any indication of what was about to happen, everything within fifty blocks was going to be leveled in a cataclysmic explosion of Masquerade-shattering proportions. With what was happening on the streets beamed to every television and wide-screen the world round, all that was needed for those who were struggling to maintain the Masquerade to give up, was the scenario that was about to take place here in the heart of New York.

Galford's were cold blue slits, "Know your place, woman. This mission is important to the safety of humanity and my orders came **directly** from the Inquisitor-General herself. If you are not happy with the way I am doing things, then you can take your reservations to her directly. Otherwise, just shut up and do as you're told."

"Do **NOT** fuck with me, Galford," Alexandra fingered the long-sword that was belted around her slender waist, "In these past few days, we've lost over two dozen teams. That's close to a hundred and fifty lives – losses Rome can ill-afford to have at this point in time."

A shrieking cry cut the confrontation between the two Paladins short as a winged shape descended from the storm-dark skies. It was Tasha, Alexandra's pet eagle and the link the Basilica had to the outside world. Alexandra pulled on a leather glove before allowing the bird to land. Attached to the eagle's leg was a scroll, sent by Alexandra's contacts outside the security cordon that the city's administration had set up in the wake of the earthquake and the unrest that followed.

"This discussion is not over, Galford," Alexandra said coldly, before removing the scroll and unrolling it. Written in the sinuous script in the battle-language of the Gladius Dei, it allowed Alexandra and those of the Militia (as the Gladius Dei were better known as) to understand the instructions given to them by their superiors. Despite their role as front-line troops, the Militia had one other responsibility – to keep an eye on their brothers and sisters from the other Orders. They were in the best position to do so, as they were often seconded to the Inquisitors and Paladins of the other six Orders.

Alexandra frowned, and barely managed to keep the look of surprise off her face. Galford, however, had seen it.

"What's wrong?" the man asked.

"News from the Vatican…this is unbelievable."

"What?"

"Cardinal Wesley and the Silent Throne have been excommunicated. The Silent Throne made off with enough equipment on them to besiege Hell…Christ, what was the Master of the Vault doing? Sleeping on the job? Oh…damn it…" and Alexandra went white.

"Alexa…? What's wrong?"

"They're here…" Alexandra's voice was shaking.

"Excuse me?"

"Arles and his team are here in New York city. The Watchers have confirmed it…"

Galford felt his throat go dry. The Silent Throne was a Class A-5 team with years of experience fighting the enemies of God and a combined arsenal of Disciplines and Charms that gave their enemies nightmares. Throw in the fact that as a Class-A team, they had access to rarer artifacts and deadlier weapons in the Sacred Vault, and those nightmares became premonitions of impending doom. No creature who had lived for centuries wanted to find out just how durable their immortality was. But, the one thing that gave the Silent Throne their reputation amongst even the Inquisition's best was simply this – their teamwork. But, above all was the fact that their leader, Wesley, would be among them.

And if that were the case, then the hundred-odd Militia soldiers and Inquisitor teams that were re-establishing the defensive cordon in the wake of the titanic explosion minutes before would count for nothing. And with the monsters that Galford was setting the trap for, it may be that the trap would not be strong enough to hold them all.

Alexandra faced Galford, "This means that we will have to revise our defensive stratagem before they get here. Galford, I want to know, and I want to know **now** your orders were and who gave them."

Galford hesitated, his obligation to his fellows at war with his sense of duty. When his expression became firm, Alexandra knew which had won. Galford apologized, and said that all that he was doing now was for the sake of a future he wanted humanity to see. Then, he turned and left her alone on the Basilica's roof. Alexandra pursed her lips and read the remainder of the message, taking in what the Inquisitor-General's aide was asking of her should Galford refuse.

The Russian woman spoke a word, and the small scroll disintegrated. And despite the grim situation, a smile curved her lips.

This world was about to fall into ruin, the message had said, but it was during this time that facades would fade and the real face of humanity's heroes would be shown. Alexandra had been a young girl, barely seven, when she had been rescued by the Order of St. Michael. She remembered an angel standing over her and her younger brother, with four black wings and holding a flaming sword, his smile defiant and proud – and she remembered fear dying.

Shateiel Spiritblade, the Black Exalted.

"Alexandra?"

The Russian woman turned to see her younger brother, Ivan, walking towards her, a hot drink in his hands. Her lips curved into a smile.

"Yo, Ivan...I trust the coffee's with thirteen cubes of sugar?"

Her brother developed a sweat-drop. Forget Armageddon. His sister would die of diabetes long before that.

_**X X X X X X**_

_**Golan Heights, Israel, Cathedral of Lucifer, 25th September 1999, 0300 hrs**_

Wesley and his companions descended further into the underworld, their eyes beholding one wonder after another, each having endured the ages of the world. No matter how dark and depraved the inhabitants of this unholy place were, the fact that their might and magic had wrought such grandeur beyond the scale of any mortal hand was undeniable. The seventh level of the cathedral was far larger than the other six, and progress had been made only by Wesley's Chariot of the Wind Charm. Had they gone by foot, it would have taken them hours to get to where they were. Wesley had no doubt that his friend had utilized his Disciplines to cover so much ground to get to the heart of the Cathedral.

The Cardinal glanced over his shoulder, studying his companions. All of them, unsurprisingly, had their jaws in the vicinity of their ankles. Even Silana and Alys, used to the sights of the spirit world, were astounded to the existence of a realm as vast as this. The older female were-beast had mentioned earlier on that the Gauntlet – the barrier separating the material world from the spirit worlds of the Umbra – in the area was so thick that it was impossible to pierce. At last, they found out why. Ancient powers beyond those of the Earth Mother had sealed this entire area, spiritually, physically and psychically. But those powers were long gone, and the evil remained, trapped and imprisoned. Twice the seal was broken, and the cost of restoring it each time had been high. The third time had been 2 decades ago, and the seal that had imprisoned the evil within had never been restored to its original strength.

Wesley turned to look at Jeanette, and had to fight back the sweat-drop. Like a giddy child, she was taking notes and making sketches, her intellectual side fired up to sun-bright incandescence. She was practically harassing him, asking questions regarding history, theology and legend. He indulged her, knowing that this was the younger woman's way of dealing with things beyond her control. He would tell her enough to sate her curiosity, but leave out key pieces of the puzzle. There were things that humanity was better off not knowing. A soft whisper at the back of his mind, however, told him otherwise. The Masquerade was crumbling. Ancient monsters were rising. The dimensional walls between worlds were weakening. Humanity was slowly starting to realize that the monsters spoken of in legend and religion were as real as the air they breathed.

And he knew that there were five ways that humanity would react. The first was denial, in which they chose not to believe what they saw. The second was with rationalization, where instead of denial, there was a certain degree of acceptance of the events that had transpired. The third and fourth would be the worst possible outcome, where humanity reacted with fear and anger. That poisonous cocktail would lead to some very, very ugly scenarios. The breakdown of social order would be the least of the problems many governments worldwide would face in the face of worldwide chaos and economic collapse. The last and most unlikely scenario would be one of acceptance – but as Shateiel had told him once before, there are those among the ranks of their race who would bargain and lie with devils to have their heart's desire. Wesley could not contain the sinking feeling that many of those who have made such bargains are regretting their decisions even now.

Then, he froze suddenly, causing the immaterial chariot to come to a halt.

"Wesley…? What's wrong?" Morrigan asked.

The Cardinal looked everywhere, his enhanced senses trying to peer into the stygian darkness lit by the foxfire globes that streaked everywhere. He spoke a word and Carsomyr flashed into existence with a thunderclap, the holy sword's golden glow illuminating the entire area like a small sun. Then, his companions froze. They sensed it, too. The air was colder, and the silence was broken not with the howling of the cold winds that blew from the dark depths of this unholy place, but by the sounds of hisses and scrabbling claws.

Weapons were drawn and Charms were readied in an instant.

"Old man," Duran glared in Wesley's direction as he pointed his twin pistols in the direction of a derelict ruin that had once been a Keep, "I thought you said that this tomb was devoid of all life…?"

A thunderous, echoing roar of triumph made the were-beasts in Wesley's party take an involuntary step back.

"The Gauntlet has been breached…" Eral Sings-the-Dawn's voice was full of disbelief, "It's not possible…"

And a voice from the depths shouted a name. Wesley grimaced and tightened his grip around Carsomyr. The demons sensed him. They knew who he was. And he could sense their bloodlust and hatred. His actions had sent many of their kind to Final Death, a fate that beings who were immortal found terrifying.

"Protect Rasha and Jeannette," Wesley said, as he broke the first wax seal on the sword, remembering the message that had come with the sword. Three seals, three gifts – one of youth and strength, one of power, and one with the power to smite even Satan with the full might of divine Wrath. Carsomyr glowed brightly, as wings of light emerged behind Wesley. Youth and strength flooded Wesley's limbs. Lines of age faded, and a young man in his late twenties stood where an older man in his fifties had stood before. When Wesley opened his eyes, he saw that his companions were looking at him in total disbelief. The ground shaking beneath them caused the latter to whirl, weapons trained into the massive archway that led to the next level.

"There must be hundreds of them…" Eral said, as he called his Ghost Hounds into existence. With the Gauntlet all but ripped apart by some unknown power, he could reach into the spirit world where his phantasmal allies had been waiting. And they had come by the dozen. Silana-Calaster and her daughter had, likewise, called on their allies.

But it wouldn't be enough. And they all knew it. And the worst part was that there was no way they could escape. Wesley raised Carsomyr high, and the sword shook in fury, sensing the approach of the beings it was created to destroy. Blue light blazed out of the runes engraved down the sword's length, the echoing roar like thunder, spitting a curse of loyalist heroes against the vile monsters they had given their lives to crush,

"Die!" Wesley bellowed as he shot into the darkness, crashing into the advancing wave of monsters like a meteor. Bodies were sent flying, rent and burnt beyond recognition, and each swing of Carsomyr ended lives in a heartbeat. Duran, Fala and Alys-Calaster guarded Jeanette and Rasha while Morrigan, Silana-Calaster and Eral Sings-the-Dawn engaged the demons that approached from behind.

**X X X X X X**

On the surface, standing high overlooking the ruined army camp below, a woman dressed in the uniform of the Israeli Army smiled as she opened her crimson eyes, the blazing halo and the twelve wings on her back fading. She turned and looked at her thralls, who waited for her in the jeeps, "We've leaving. We report that nothing out of the ordinary has happened here, understood?"

"As you command, your Majesty. But why did you…" a female lieutenant spoke. The white-haired woman grinned, and stroked the younger woman's breast, causing the latter to gasp, "Because it's fun, my dear. And because I'm getting a once-in-eternity chance of making it happen…"

She paused and turned to look at a peak in the distance. The grin became wider. Standing beside a seductive, red-maned woman was a well-build figure with four wings and a halo of shining crimson that could be seen in the darkest night.

'_So…Cameela's boy-toy is here…' _"And because the people involved are some of the most interesting characters you and I would ever **not** want to meet."

**X X X X X X**

**The wreckage of Central Park North subway station, 24****th**** September 1999, 1600 hrs**

Wynona could not believe it. She had lost the fight, and with it her life. She was lying in the ruins of what had once been a diner, unable to move even her arms or legs at all. That was bad. That meant she was paralyzed from the neck down. Sheik had grown so powerful. She was amazed at how quickly he had cast his Charms, and how he had married them with his Disciplines. And twelve Servants – good God…she could hardly believe that what the Mage Princes had told her was true. More than half that number was female and, considering the way they looked at their Master, it was clear that they had gone **far** beyond a Master and Servant relationship. She chuckled, but the sound came out only as a choked gurgle.

Sheik soon stepped into her view. It was clear that he had not walked away from the confrontation unscathed either. His half-cloak, tattered and torn, fluttered in the wind that blew through the ruined metropolis like broken wings. Wynona could see blood weave bloody tracks down the exposed arm which was blackened and bloodied by the Fire-based Charms that she had unleashed on him. That same arm held that fearsome gun which had blasted her Stalker Servant into oblivion.

Wynona tried to speak, "…You've changed…"

"So have you, Winnie," the Battlemage replied, softly, "You're stronger than before. Had that blow landed, this duel would have been yours."

"…Can't…deny that…but your Servants have a knack…" she coughed up blood, "…of getting in the way. Twelve of them…you have an army at your beck and call…and a Fallen Angel backing you up. Cats pray for that kind of luck, you know…"

Sheik smiled. Even on the verge of dying, Wynona's sarcastic humor refused to put its foot in the ferry.

"So…tell me, Sheik," Wynona felt her vision starting to tunnel, "When can I…expect to see your kids?"

"Idiot…" the Battlemage said, kneeling down to stroke her face, "You always ask the stupidest questions, you know that? How the hell you became Justicar is beyond me, though I think that your penchant for causing trouble was perhaps the main factor why the Sorcerian appointed you to be one."

Wynona laughed, fighting hard to keep her eyes open. She was so tired, so sleepy.

"She's about to cross over, Master…" a white-haired woman came into view. It was Sheik's Stalker Servant, Kurenai.

"I know."

Another woman stepped into view, this one the female rebel angel she had seen hovering over Sheik. She could not fight back the fear that threatened to consume her. Fully incarnate, clad in armor that complemented her curves, her six wings heavily streaked with silver and lightning, Camael of the Fallen, Angel of Merciless Fury, was a fearsome sight. The female rebel angel nodded towards her, a gesture of respect, "YOU HAVE FOUGHT WELL, WYNONA RIDER. BUT YOU SHOULD HAVE WITHDRAWN AS SHEIK HAD ASKED OF YOU. THE WORLD WILL NEED YOUR STRENGTH IN THE DAYS TO COME."

"But, it's too late for that now," Sheik finished, "I cannot heal these wounds, and my Caster Servant is preparing to evacuate the Crimson Lotus group from the city before the vampire Ancient or its dogs get to them."

Wynona had known that the moment she crossed swords with her friend, she would die. Sheik possessed the might to reduce entire cities to ghost-haunted ruins. Should he fall to evil, he would be one of the Devil's mightiest generals on Earth. Wynona knew that the chances were remote; Sheik had held an unyielding grudge against the forces of Darkness ever since his first love had been defiled by them.

"Sheik…" she said, "Can you promise me something…?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me…you won't make others suffer for the sake of your hatred," Wynona's voice was starting to falter. Death was practically next to her, waiting patiently. It knew that the woman before him would go willingly after she had secured a promise from her friend. And it knew that all it took was one's final words to change the course of destiny.

The young man before the Reaper nodded, and gave his vow. Now, she was ready.

"You know, Sheik…" Wynona said finally, "I envy your female Servants…they got what I…and a host of others could not win."

Sheik tried to fight back his tears, but failed miserably.

"They have your heart."

And the Reaper swung his scythe down. Wynona drew her final breath, contented with the way she had lived her life.

**X X X X X X **

Sheik reached out and closed Wynona's eyes. Even in death, the lovely Texan radiated strength and determination. The memory of Tsukikage Mai and the way she had died had raised a barrier around his heart that broke the hearts of those who had tried to penetrate its walls. He had been afraid of losing any of those girls as he had Mai. Wynona had been the exception to the rule. She had tried, tirelessly, to get him to open up, infuriated by the fact that only his female Servants could do what no normal, human girl could.

"Thank you, Wynona," he spoke finally, calling upon his powers, "Thank you for believing in me…and for loving a fool like me."

When the flames faded, there was not even a mark of the female Mage's body on the ground. And when Sheik stepped outside, he saw a familiar face emerge from an alley with several men and women behind him. It was his doppelganger; the one he had left behind when he undertook a mission despite his Order forbidding him from doing so. The one person he had trusted not to make a mess of things while his back was turned.

The dark-haired man looked past him briefly and back to him, before nodding in sympathy, "It has been a while, Sheik."

"Hello, Arikiba…" Sheik said after several minutes of silence, "I see you brought the Seraphs with you. Who else was invited?"

"I'll tell you along the way. By the way, Arles," and he turned to face a powerfully-built man wearing the blessed armor of the Inquisition's elite, "This is Sheik Muhammad, of the Singapore Sorcerian. He's an old friend of mine…and who is someone whom I owe a great deal of explanation as to why he is a hunted criminal by the people he once served."

"For now…" Sheik began, "I will settle with an introduction of everyone here…and a **good**," the Battlemage stressed on the word, "explanation on what is going on. Leave nothing out. The guarantee of my beating you within an inch of your immortal life is, for **now**, postponed."

Arikiba looked uncomfortable, knowing that his (death) sentence was postponed for now, and that his friends and lovers would most likely be making bets as to how long he would last against an angry Battlemage with 12 Servants and one very, very infuriated rebel angel.

"Camael…" Arikiba began, hoping that his former lieutenant would try to alleviate her host's wrath. The gray-haired rebel angel merely replied, stonily, that her prince was on his own. Arikiba wilted even more upon hearing that.

**X X X X X X**

In the shadows of another building, through the eyes of a recently-created cat thrall, Paladin Rebecca Marshall watched her Prince and his allies meet up with Camael's host and his retinue of Servants. It was…a sight stir the blood. So much power in such a small group; they numbered less than fifty, but what they were about to do would change the world. Warriors of the Tyrant, a son of one of the queens of the Fallen and the First Man and his retinue, a Possessed Battlemage with 12 Servants – never once in history was there a gathering of might such as this.

Galatea strode up to her, her sword resting on her shoulder. Behind her were several Fallen that Rebecca had known for countless millennia, all of whom had fought by her side for centuries against the Tyrant's servants.

"Shouldn't you be rejoining your comrades at the Basilica, Masela?" Galatea asked Rebecca, "They'll be missing you by now."

Rebecca smiled, tipping her cowboy hat, before replying that it was a waste of time – and that the Throne-class barriers that her 'captain', Galford Eisenland, had set up around it, was too dangerous an obstacle to overlook. The moment Galford activated it, any creature that was not human, would be affected by the massive spiritual explosion. Even humans were affected, albeit to a lesser degree.

"The bitch-queen in Rome must be getting desperate to go this far," Galatea said.

"It's not her," Rebecca said, "This is Galford's plan to kill two birds with one stone. Ever since he saw what our Prince did to one of our loyalist kin, he's been hell-bent to avenge that insult to the Tyrant. Dumb fuck doesn't get that Heaven is withdrawing its armies from the world – and that the only thing standing between our King and the Tyrant is a great, big army of mortals who will bend over for no one and no-what."

"Like the ones you're spying on…" a male Fallen smiled, "You've never changed, Masela. In any case, what are your plans?"

"Simple. We let our Prince and his allies take down the barriers. And then, we charge in, take both the Avatar and the Prince," Rebecca said.

"And what about his companions, Captain Masela?" another Fallen asked, "Should we take them alive as well?"

"Do so," Rebecca replied. After all, killing them would antagonize her Prince anyway. Might as well try to be in his good books, as being in the bad ones often ends up with the offending party being in more pieces than they could possibly want to count!

**X X X X X X**

_**Golan Heights, Israel, Cathedral of Lucifer, 25th September 1999, 0330 hrs**_

Wesley swung Carsomyr to clear it of the ichor that coated it, the smoking blood of his adversaries hitting the defiled ground and leaving smoking holes where it landed. His companions brought up the rear, eliminating any of those that had been unlucky enough to have survived the holy sword's corrosive touch. Wesley's blue eyes were a fierce, feral gold, luminous in the darkness of the ruins as he regarded his adversaries.

Standing before him, their massive swords raised and shields lifted, were over a dozen Steel Lords. He had fought these eight-foot killing machines before. For many an infernalist, the Steel Lords acted as bodyguards. Bound by oath and Charm, no power above or below Hell could sway a Steel Lord from betraying his (or her) master. It was a mockery of knightly oaths sworn by men before their liege lords in a bygone age, but unlike them, the Steel Lords took those oaths seriously. As a result, many of the lesser Lords and Barons of Hell sought to augment their bodyguard with these loyal souls.

But, that was not all. Wesley had seen these fearsome beings in action. He had seen a single sword-stroke from a Steel Lord's hell-forged blade overturn a three-ton truck and put a hole in one side of a building. Even with a protective Charm, he remembered leaving a human imprint on a wall when one of those eight-foot monsters swatted him. That had hurt…

The best way to deal with a Steel Lord was to pelt it with so much gunfire that is serrated-suit of armor gave way and the potent Charms that kept the soul within disintegrated. The second way was to swat it so hard that it did not get back up. Not many people could carry out Plan B – and Plan A ensured a longer life span.

Wesley grinned. He loved Plan B. Time for payback – and he was punching Lucifer's ticket one way or the other.

"Hello, sardines…" Wesley charged, and reduced a Steel Lord into tinned meat – if there had been **any** meat under the hundred-pound suit of armor. He blocked a blow, somersaulting and cutting another Steel Lord in two as he did so, causing it to erupt in ghostly flames that bespoke of a soul escaping its prison.

"YOU WILL DIE HERE, MORTAL…" one of the Steel Lords spoke, his voice echoing as if from a bottomless pit, "YOU CANNOT STOP THE WILL OF OUR LORD AND MASTER…"

"Watch me," Wesley replied as he spun on heel, Carsomyr weaving a golden arc of fire that made even these fearless, soul-driven automatons wary, "Because last time, I irritated him. This time, I'll **annoy** him."

"PROUD AND FOOLISH CARDINAL," a female voice spoke, "YOU KNOW NOT TO KNEEL BEFORE YOUR BETTERS…GOD KNOWS NOT YOUR NAME…"

"And I should care if He does? From the way things are going, I wouldn't be half-surprised if He decided to wash his hands off of the human race. But, that's not for me to decide. You came to Earth. I am going to fucking **deport** you…!" Wesley stabbed twice, only to find Carsomyr knocked aside by the Steel Lord's powerful ripostes.

"LORD SHATEIEL HAS RETURNED TO THE BARONESS CAMEELA'S SIDE, AND HAS TAKEN HIS PLACE AS THE MASTER OF HER LEGIONS. IF YOU WILL SURRENDER…" the female Steel Lord began, only to be sent staggering several steps back, her long horsehair crest fluttering.

"Then we fight each other," Wesley said simply, "It's what he expects of me. He considered me a friend because I did not know **how** to quit. And I love playing against long odds. Now shut up…" and he feigned a cut to the Steel Lord's waist, only to reverse it and cut a blazing arc from the Steel Lord's helm to groin, "And die…!"

A woman's piercing scream almost blew Wesley's eardrums.

The other Steel Lords did not hesitate, taking advantage of their adversary's brief paralysis to cut him down before another of their number died. Multiple gunshots picked them off one after another as one of the Cardinal's compatriots emptied his twin pistols of the blessed rounds he had loaded them with. Before the remaining Steel Lords could recover, those within reach of the Cardinal's Runefang soon exploded into pillars of ethereal flame as their armored forms were cut in half.

Wesley shook his head, clearing the stars out of his eyes, and nodded his thanks to the vampire who had saved his life. Duran nodded briefly, before swiftly reloading and reducing a group of charging Stalkers into Swiss cheese. The Cardinal glanced at his other companions. Morrigan and Silana-Calaster had engaged several Stalkers, while Sings-the-Dawn was fighting toe-to-toe with a Hulk who was four times his size – and winning. Alys-Calaster was unleashing her Charms one after another, knocking any aerial enemies out of the air. Fala Spiritblade shot everywhere, her shotgun taking out groups of enemies before she retreated into the protective envelope of Alys's spirit guards.

This was taking too long! If what Eral said was true, with the breach in the Gauntlet turned into a gaping wound, he and his compatriots would run out of strength and Sacred rounds before the Unholy Host had run out of cannon fodder. There had to be something…! His eyes widened. Wait…there was a way!

He had to seal the breach. But can he do it? Whatever force had torn open the barriers separating the worlds was mighty beyond human imagination. Nonetheless, he had to try. Otherwise…no, despair was the brother of defeat. He had come this far, returning to the place where great sacrifices had been made, to know if what he did twenty years ago had been the right thing to do.

Wesley leapt back, into Alys's protective envelope. He reached into his coat, and threw the Angel-class barriers in four directions. He knew that their holy energies would be weakened in ground as tainted as this, but he needed time. He turned to Alys, "Everyone, I am going to try and seal the breach in the Gauntlet. I need you to buy me as much time as you are able!"

"This insane idea of yours had better work, Wesley!" Eral said.

_'Oh, it will,' _Wesley thought as he slammed Carsomyr into the ground, _'And I'll cause whoever the hell tore open the gauntlet a bad headache…'_

**X X X**

_**Up on the surface…**_

Wesley's attempt to seal the barriers between the worlds had not gone unnoticed.

"He's trying to seal the Gauntlet, father," a scantily-clad, dark-haired girl said.

"I know," the winged man spoke, his robes fluttering about his powerfully-built frame, his hand tightening around the broadsword that laid belted around his waist, "Don't interfere."

"But..."

"Do as he says, girl," the crimson-haired goddess that stood a foot away from the girl's father said, "After all...this was the place where great heroes died true to their convictions. By and by, my love, what of that mad child of yours…?"

"Anselm?" the man snarled, "My servants have finally located him. It's only a matter of time before they catch him. And if that Ebon Legion bitch - or any of them! - looks at me the wrong way, I'll send her to Oblivion so fast she won't have time to scream."

The goddess looked over her shoulder at the man, his lovers and his children. The mere mention of the name had incensed all of them. She smiled. No surprise. This clan was closely-knit. They had many enemies, but just as many allies and servants. And surprisingly, the latter two were fanatically loyal. There was much to gain by being so; turning traitor was simply not profitable in more ways than one.

"The Ebon Legion Lords will not be too happy when they hear that their favourite pet is dead," the goddess smiled. She did not care if they came to blows despite their King's command not to. The Crimson Legion which she and her companions were part of had a long-standing feud with the Ebon Legion. The Crimson Legion had demonstrated that when pushed hard enough, the white-hot explosion of rage made the Ebon Legion's berserker legions look tame by comparison.

"As if I care," the man shrugged before looking up, a smirk on his face, "Ah, here it comes..."

The crimson-haired goddess followed the man's gaze. She could **feel** the very air solidifying and the fabric of reality reacting to the ritual taking place deep beneath the earth. The powerful spirit that had torn open the fabric of reality struggled to keep the portal open, but with the artefact in the hands of the excommunicated Cardinal had been forged to be the nemesis of any being whose existence and powers were anathema to the laws of God and Man. The crimson-haired goddess nodded once to the winged man, "I will return to our stronghold and make ready our troops."

The man nodded, "Safe journey, my lady."

The red-haired goddess disappeared in a flash of light. A few seconds later, half a dozen figures clad in crimson cloaks and hoods materialized. The leader of the band, a woman with long ears poking out of holes in her hood and golden locks, knelt before the man. Her companions followed suit.

"Report."

"My lord, we have found your errant offspring," the kneeling woman spoke.

"Where is he?"

"He is in a country called Japan."

The winged man's fury and disbelief was palpable. His lovers and children exchanged looks of strangled horror. Could Anselm be...?

"Beloved..." one of them whispered, her eyes wide.

"That child has no power whatsoever to defend himself...!" another said, an armored fist tightening around the hilt of her sword, "Damn that bastard to the Pits and back again!"

"Where in Japan?" the man asked again.

"He is, from what my scouts say, is approaching the city of Kyoto," the kneeling woman and her compatriots could not fight back the terror that had taken root in their soul, "We are hot on his trail, and have aid from a Devil named Areil. He and his thrall have pledged us their resources to take him down. We will not fail you, my lord..."

"You won't because I..." and was cut off as an armored Fallen Angel materialized, the expression on his face telling the four-winged Exalted before him that he was the bearer of more bad news. News that had left the Exalt and his lovers and children little choice but to rely on their servants to prevent a gruesome fate from befalling one who did not have an iota of power with which to defend himself.

**X X X **

_**Basilica of St. Michael, New York Central, 1840 hrs, 24th September 1999, Thursday**_

Sheik stared at the defenses that surrounded the Basilica of St. Michael. His Servants had counted well over two hundred men and women - all of them well-armed and ready for a fight. A direct assault was suicide, but to pursue any other option was to waste valuable time. The Battlemage looked up at the darkening sky. Soon, the signal to attack would be given. He closed his eyes, remembering the reason why Arikiba had summoned him to New York. And frankly, while he would still blacken the eye of the Nephilim Prince later for making his life difficult, he was glad that the half-demon had done so.

The leader of the Inquisition coterie with him, Arles, had explained the reasons as to why his superior, an excommunicated Cardinal, had gathered them together. The later had tasked them with the duty of finding the 12 Avatars and ensuring that they lived past the New Year, when the alignment of the planets and the stars in Creation regained their equilibrium and the barriers between worlds were restored to their full potency. The Gauntlet, the dimensional barriers that the Creator had put into place in an age of legend, was weakening. It was during this time that the First of the Fallen would attempt to bring the ramparts crashing down; all he needed was to incarnate himself in or through an Avatar, and the gates of his abyssal kingdom would slam open with a crash that would sunder reality and allow its hosts to unleash a massive assault upon Heaven.

It would have been easy to thwart the Adversary's plans. The Church could have used its massive resources to secure and protect the Avatars till the promised hour passed. But, no…this time the extremists in the Vatican and the Inquisition had decided that the only way to do so was to eliminate each of the Adversary's chosen vessels. It was a decision that had the Pope and those who supported him in an uproar. Despite their attempts to stop what they saw as a murder of innocents, it was soon obvious that the Pope was nothing more than a figurehead.

An internal conflict – it couldn't have happened at a worst time, Sheik thought.

Then, the ground started to shake.

The Battlemage gritted his teeth, and took to the air, his Servants doing likewise. Arikiba's gut instinct had been right. The trap that had been set had not been set for him alone. Those in the Adversary's Court had no wish of letting their master seize the mortal realm; it was a resource that the First of the Fallen would demolish in his hatred of the race that had seen him cast out of Paradise. But that did not make them the good guys – if anything, simple annihilation by the hands of the Adversary would be a mercy compared to what those who were coming had in mind.

He turned to Caster, his decision made. To Hell with Arikiba's plans…they were out of time! The surge of power he felt was alarming. The Earthbound were making their move, and were sending in the big guns.

"Caster, the signal…!"

The white-haired sorceress Servant nodded, raised her hand, and sent a blazing cross into the sky – a sight that was seen for miles around. If there had been any doubt as to the veracity of eyewitness reports of supernatural creatures fighting in the ruins of a once-thriving metropolis, it was gone when they saw that blazing cross…and the skyscraper high tentacles that erupted from the ground in a violent explosion.

**X X X**

Arikiba swore, both when he saw the signal to attack and when his supernatural senses went haywire. Not only were the servants of the Earthbound attacking, but the Vampire Ancient that slept beneath the city had decided to make its move. Explosions erupted in the vicinity of the Basilica of St. Michael as its defenders unleashed a crippling barrage of blessed rounds and Charms. Fiery comets slicing down from the dark skies heralded Sheik's entry into the fray – and a clear indication he was putting all his weight behind his punches.

The Nephilim Prince shifted to his Divine Aspect before turning to face his friends and allies. He looked at each of them, consigning each of their faces to memory. There was no question that many of them would not leave the battleground alive, but taking a step back now was but to postpone the funeral. And the painful thing was, they knew it too. Arikiba looked at his lovers, remembering their teasing words, their hopes and dreams. He smiled at them; through them, he learnt what it meant to be free, and to believe. He looked at Bennu and the Seraphs; through them, he learnt to reclaim a humanity lost beneath centuries of bloodshed and politicking. Then, he gazed up at the skies, remembering those who had followed him from Hell, who desired the same dream as he, and those who sought to return him to the throne he abdicated in favor of that dream.

"Arikiba…" Lucia began.

"I know," the Nephilim Prince replied, grinning, "We're the craziest bunch of idiots the Creator has sent to clean up His mess," and his smile faded, "This is it. You all know our objectives. Save the Avatar. Don't let her die. Everything that moves down there is an enemy."

"Stay alive, all of you," Metaraia cut in, her wrist swords snapping up, "And cover each other's backs."

"Goes without saying," Nial said, "Let's get going. Sheik is most likely swearing in a dozen different languages by now."

"Just, please, do **NOT** ask me to translate," Lucia replied saucily, "The last time I did…"

"What happened?" Yurney of the Silent Throne asked.

"Faia tried to find out if what Sheik said about Arikiba was true," Lucia said playfully, almost causing the silver-haired enchantress to faint. Arikiba met Lucia's eyes, mouthing a silent thank you for causing the tense air to dissipate.

"Enough chatting," Io said, unlimbering her guns, "It's time to finish this."

There was nothing left to be said. The Silent Throne and the Seraphs charged for the battlefield, leaping from building to building, unleashing a hail of bullets and Charms as they did so. They charged past Sheik who, with his Servants, had engaged the Vampire Ancient and were aided by a large coterie of First House vampires. Knowing better than to interfere, Arikiba led the Seraphs and the Silent Throne to their target – the massive edifice of the Basilica that stood in the heart of New York City.

It did not take them long to reach the Inquisition's defensive lines…and never once did anyone on the battlefield care about the media chopper that hovered high above them, sending a torrent of images to a world that watched in utter astonishment and awe at the titanic duel that took place. All of them were beyond caring; the Masquerade, which had been unraveling in the recent years, now fell apart.

**X X X**

_**Golan Heights, Israel, Cathedral of Lucifer, at that very moment…**_

The ritual that Wesley had performed had been successful. It had practically cast every rebel angel, demon and devil back into Hell – all of whom swore to get even with Wesley when the time came. The end result was, of course, a Wesley with crossed eyes and angels doing pirouettes around his head – and muttering about food. Eral had had no choice but to maintain in his werewolf form to carry the (badly) disoriented Cardinal and complaining about the latter's weight.

"If Silvana had still been alive," the Red Indian said, "she would have made sure this idiot didn't eat too much. He's heavy…"

"Stop complaining," Morrigan sniffed, "The least you can do is carry him, considering he saved our lives."

"Seconded," Silana-Calaster said, "And my shoulder isn't doing too well. I underestimated how strong the Corruptor Dragon's elite were."

Eral gave the female vampire and were-cat a dirty look, before growling at their children and Jeanette who were trying hard to bite back laughter. A moan brought conversation to a stop and caused the disoriented Wesley to look in the direction of its source – Rasha.

The young girl was on her knees, shivering and frightened, even though she had been laughing only moments before. Wesley pushed himself off Eral's broad shoulder and moved towards the Avatar.

"Rasha, what's wrong…?"

"Where is this…?" Rasha whispered, "Where am I…?"

It did not take Wesley long to understand what had happened. Rasha was, he had discovered, a very empathic individual. Married to her ability to prophesize, it had caused the girl much pain and grief. And that ability would now allow her to see what would be the beginning of the end.

**X X X**

Rasha was on her knees, before an altar that was adorned in crimson and gold-lined drapes. A gilded cross made of gold and silver stood before images of Jesus Christ and his disciples, their expressions serene. But, what Rasha felt was unease and disorientation. Where was she…? The sound of a massive explosion made her turn her head, where she saw any hope of egress blocked by stern-faced men and women clad in black coats adorned with golden crosses and armed with guns and swords. What was she doing here? One minute, she had been in the cold underground city-fortress that Wesley had once called the earthly palace of the Adversary, and the next, she was here, within this massive, gothic Church.

Another explosion caused the cathedral to shake, causing dust to fall from its sturdy ceiling, and an unearthly roar of fury was met by a thunderous voice that dared the originator of the former to come face him.

"The battle outside is going badly," a man in his early fifties spoke, "Where is Alexandra's unit?"

"Bogged down," a woman in a habit replied.

"Damn that woman! I told her not to…"

"Eisenland-san, this is not the time to push blame," a Japanese man said, "Now is the time to act. We must see our plan through, no matter the cost. Otherwise, those who are dying outside would have died for nothing. If we are fortunate, the ensuing explosion of divine energy will cause the Ancient that sleeps beneath this city to enter dormancy as well."

"But, we must first draw a Daemon Prince to his doom," the man called Galford spoke, "No one crosses the Will of God without drawing His wrath."

'_Daemon Prince…?'_ Rasha was perplexed. Who was this man talking about? Wait…Wesley mentioned that one of his allies was a mighty being, a child of the First Man and a female rebel angel. A child born long before God had created Eve to be his mate, and Lilith had lain with him. Arikiba was, Wesley told her, the very first Nephilim to be born long before the Creator punished four angels for the same transgression that had seen to Arikiba's mother cast down.

The sounds came clearer now, and Rasha could make out the sounds of gunfire and the crash of steel against steel. She felt the _wrongness_ in the air, could feel _something_ outside the cathedral's sanctified walls. Something monstrous and evil knew that _she_ was within, and she could sense its obscene lust and hunger in its phantasmal tendrils. But, Rasha knew that she was not physically where she was. She was looking through the eyes of another Avatar.

"Shall we commence with the ritual, Galford?" a man looked down at her, "If the Archenemy's servants breach our defenses, it will be too late."

"Please…" the woman whose eyes were looking through begged, "don't…"

A backhand knocked her to the cold, marble floor, "Silence, woman. You are a sinner. This is the only way you can be saved by His Grace."

"I don't want to die…"

"Sadly," the man continued, "it is the only way to save you, Brandii Kelley. If we let you live, Satan will incarnate himself through your impure flesh. This must not happen, or humanity is doomed."

A thunderous roar shook the cathedral as the massive doors bent under the weight of blows capable of reducing buildings to rubble.

"GALFORD…!"

"Perform the ritual, Henry!" Galford said, drawing his sword and readying his gun, "Hurry!"

The man who struck her – Henry – grabbed her hair and pulled her to her knees. An instant later, she felt the cold touch of a sharp blade at her throat.

"Our Father who art in Heaven…"

Four others surrounding Henry echoed his words, and a ritual circle took shape on the marble floor, inscribed with prayers in Latin and holy sigils.

"By your Grace and Mercy…"

A second blow shook the cathedral doors.

"Deliver this soul, though impure and soiled…"

Another blow…

"So, this was the plan, was it, Galford?" a melodious voice spoke, and everyone's head turned to see a blonde-haired woman with a bloodied lance appear from the corridor that led to the Basilica's western wing, "By killing the Avatar in holy ground, you kill two birds with one stone. Satan cannot incarnate himself in the House of God; and you will prevent my King from seizing its empty shell. Well done, Galford. You have proven yourself most worthy of a place amongst the Unholy Host."

Galford and the others were stunned at the appearance of one they thought lost to them, before the words the blonde-haired woman sank in.

"Rebecca, what are you…" one of the Paladins surrounding Rasha spoke, "Wait…you cannot be…"

"Oh, but I am, Tristan," the blonde-haired woman said, a smirk curving her lovely face, "It is time for the masks we wear to be removed. My real name, Galford, darling, is Masela of the Blazing Lance. I am a servant of the Nephilim Prince, Arikiba, whom you have hunted for over a decade."

Rasha's eyes flew back towards Galford. The expression on his face was beyond thunderous.

"Spawn of Satan," the Paladin hissed, "You dare step within holy ground...! You dare defile the House of God with your filthy…"

"I can withstand the pain of being in a Church, priest," Rebecca said, taking a fighting stance.

Another crash caused the reinforced doors of the Basilica to bend inwards. It wouldn't be long before they were brought down. Rasha could feel the desperation fuelling the potent might of the Nephilim Prince. She knew that he wanted – more than anything – to prevent what was inevitable.

"LET THE AVATAR GO, GALFORD…!" a deafening voice shouted from outside, "DAMN YOU, CHURCH DOG…! GET OFF OF ME!"

Galford ignored the voice of his prey, his attention focused on the woman who had once, clearly, been one of his most trusted allies. Rebecca allowed her Divine Aspect to show, and Rasha felt the awe and horror of the woman whose eyes she looked through. Two black wings, streaked with silver, spread majestically. Two graceful horns grew from her temples, to curve forward before flowing back. A long, prehensile tail swished lazily from her rear. Rebecca's face had intricate crimson sigils on them, similar to the ones Rasha had seen on Wesley's arm.

_'Warding sigils…'_ the young Avatar realized. That was how the Paladin had managed to hide for so long among the servants of God without arousing suspicion.

"You will regret stepping foot in here, Rebecca…" Galford snarled, "Ruth! You and the others continue with the ritual. The rest of you, kill her!"

But before the dozen or so Paladins even took a step forward, the massive doors of the Basilica were torn off its hinges with a thunderous crash. The wooden pews nearby were reduced to kindling. A four-winged figure, badly injured and battered by the clash he had just walked out from, strode in. Twin flaming swords were held in hands that knew every sin, sorrow and joy. Arikiba, Prince of the Crimson Legion, the firstborn son of Adam and Andariel, trod for the first time in uncounted centuries within the House of God. The Church shook in outrage, the magnificent chandeliers that hung from its ceiling on the verge of falling. Candles lit with a fierce roar.

"LET THE AVATAR GO, GALFORD," the Nephilim Prince spoke, his voice thick with wrath, "OR SO HELP ME GOD, I WILL…"

"You, a devil, would call upon God?" Galford's voice was filled with mirth, "Why would He listen to you? Or for that matter, why should I?"

"Because it is in the best interests of God to listen before He fucks Creation up more than He already has," Rebecca said, "But, knowing Him, He's not going to. You, on the other hand, will decide if things go downhill from here. My Prince is right, Galford. You, not those farts back in Rome, will decide if God will decide to tell humanity they fucked up royally or not. If you cut the Avatar's throat, you choose option 1. If you don't, you choose option 2, and we'll help you screw the Earthbounds' assholes back into whatever sewer they crawled out of."

"IT'S AMUSING, GALFORD, THAT YOU WOULD CALL ME A MONSTER WHEN YOU'RE THE ONE HOLDING THE KNIFE TO AN INNOCENT'S THROAT," Arikiba strode forward, causing Galford's companions to whip up their weapons, "I DO NOT DENY THE EVILS I HAVE DONE IN THE LONG CENTURIES I HAVE BEEN ALIVE, GALFORD. WHEN JUDGEMENT COMES – AND COME IT SHALL – IT WILL FIND THAT I WILL BE LACKING IN EXCUSES THAT GOD'S SERVANTS ARE SO FOND OF FABRICATING."

"What we do, we do in our Lord's name," a woman cut in sharply, pointing her gun at the Nephilim Prince, "We must prevent the Crossing, no matter the cost. If the Enemy of God crosses into the mortal plane, every soul on it will be condemned to eternal suffering. One life for billions and for those yet unborn…it is an acceptable sacrifice."

**X X X X X X**

_**Golan Heights, Israel, Cathedral of Lucifer, at that very moment…**_

Rasha trashed about wildly in the arms of Wesley, her eyes wide in terror as he ears listened to a conversation only she could hear.

"I don't want to die…" the young Avatar whispered, the words causing the ex-Cardinal's heart to twist in his chest, bringing back a bitter memory and causing an old, unhealed wound to bleed afresh. He tightened his arms around Rasha, whispering the same words he had whispered into Silvana's before she passed away. It had caused him pain, to hear his long-dead lover's voice in the younger girl's. Her smile, the way she moved, the way she sang – it made old hopes and dreams return with a fierce vengeance. Now, his youth returned to him, he had a chance to make them real. He had had enough. He was done serving God. He was done fighting the Devil. The two powers can go to Oblivion for all he cared, and good riddance.

All he wanted was to be with Silvana again, and supporting their children on his shoulders the same way Shateiel had whenever he played with the children in the orphanage. But, before he could have all that, he had to pay the toll. He remembered the choices of that fateful day twenty years ago. The choices then, as now, bore heavily on his soul.

He made his choice, but it was by no way easy.

"Wesley…" Rasha whimpered, "I'm scared…Arikiba…"

Wesley's eyes widened as the ex-Cardinal realized at that very moment what the young Avatar was seeing through her prophetic vision. Good God…she couldn't be…Arikiba…

Eral, Morrigan and Silana-Calaster caught on immediately, the looks on their face equivalent to as if each of them had been struck by a nuclear missile.

**X X X X X X**

Before the earthquake, before the kidnapping, Brandii Kelley had been a University student. Life had been fun and easy, even if classes were otherwise. She had friends and plenty of bed-mates. She had worked part-time at a modeling agency to earn some extra cash; she had the figure that went with the looks. Unlike her peers, Brandii took time out to train. A regular exercise regime and a good diet went a long way.

Unfortunately, against her captors, that was not enough. They were strong, tough and fast. She had barely made it down three stories when she found herself face-to-face with a spear held by a smirking woman who now stood twenty feet from here, looking every inch the erotic female devils Brandii had seen one of her boyfriends draw on a sketchpad. But, several feet behind him was raw power and terror incarnate. Forget wrestlers, street toughs and gang-bangers. Forget about them by the battalion. This one could tear through the whole lot in seconds. And, considering the explosions and gunfire that she heard through the Church's thick walls, he had.

Brandii was not a church regular. She saw Church as a boring place, with no hot guys and some older dude rambling about God and punishment and crap that don't count for shit on the streets. Besides, more than one priest had looked down her cleavage. She could not blame them. It's difficult keeping one's concentration when a hot girl was a foot from you, and dressed to turn blood to steam. But, regardless, Brandii had gone to Church enough, heard and read enough, to know what it was she was looking at and what her captors were talking about. She was not stupid, but fear can make anyone take leave of their senses. Right now, the fact that her body was going to be used by the Devil as a shell scared the shit out of her. Devils did not exist, her friends had told her. If they did, they were the people they came into contact with everyday. They have seen people who would sell their girlfriends and daughters to pimps for extra cash and favors from the higher-ups in the gangland hierarchy. They have seen jerks sleep around, only to jilt their girls after they had knocked them up. They have seen the worst that humanity had to offer.

And to think, she smiled bitterly, that the best would come in the form of the very things that humanity had been taught to hate. The irony was not lost on Brandii. One of her schoolmates had been that. He was not one of the coolest kids on the block, but he was in her good books. Asian, bookish and a loner – the favorite targets of the white boys who wanted to show the Asian population on their turf who was boss. She remembered him limping into class with a grin, bruises and an excuse that he had gotten into a motorbike accident. In truth, his bike had been reduced to a scrap pile by the gang.

"AN ACCEPTABLE SACRIFICE…? ONE LIFE FOR THE BILLIONS THAT WILL LIVE AND FOR THOSE YET UNBORN…? IS THAT HOW BAUER THINKS?"

"It is, heretic," Galford snarled, "It is for the greater good."

"YOU ARE SO FULL OF SHIT, GALFORD. I'M NOT SURPRISED AT THE MORAL DECLINE AND DRYROT THAT FESTERS WITHIN THE HEART OF THE INQUISITION. FOR MASELA," the Daemon Prince nodded towards the female devil, "TO ACTUALLY MANAGE TO SUCCESSFULLY INFILTRATE THE OUTER ORDERS BESPEAKS OF IT."

Brandii saw the other devil blush, and chuckle despite the severity of the situation, "That was why some people in the Vatican got uneasy around me, Galford, darling. It's not only my…behavior. It's all me," and her eyes sharpened, "But, Prince Arikiba is right. You **are** full of shit. I've heard a lot of your crap when I worked with you, but this one tops them all. I see that reasoning with you is pointless, so I'll make my demands clear. Forget my previous offer. You're too dumb and stubborn to know a good deal when you see one. So here's my last offer – Let the girl go."

Galford threw his head back and laughed, "Now, here's my counter-offer. You can put down your weapons, and I promise you a swift, merciful death – something which is more than you deserve for the sins you have committed."

"Offer refused," Rebecca and Arikiba spoke as one.

"Pity," Galford sighed in mock-exasperation, before shouting out, "Unlock the seals! Do it now…! Alexandra…!"

But nothing happened. Galford turned pale as he saw a wicked smile take shape on Arikiba's face. What happened…? What had happened to Alexandra and her team?

Rebecca smiled maliciously, "Alexandra might just have had a run-in with some friends I brought along, Galford. You are on your own. And you are so mine."

"TAKE A NUMBER AND GET IN LINE, MASELA."

**X X X X X X**

Alexandra Volsheka reloaded her rifle and unleashed a blistering barrage of Sacred-class bullets at the charging Fallen, catapulting him back and off the Church's roof. Around her, the broken bodies of her team-mates and the charred corpses of the Fallen littered the tiled rooftop. Circling above in the dark skies were dozens of monsters, their inhuman voices rising in a vile song of victory. And from her vantage point, the Paladin could see why. The defensive lines were giving way. She could see her fellow Militia being sent sailing through the air, bereft of limbs or the lower halves of their bodies. She could see the servants of the Archenemy run riot, running down those who fled. The female members were raped repeatedly before being torn to shreds and devoured. She gritted her teeth, and turned towards her surviving colleagues.

They knew who was to blame for this catastrophe. And it was time they retreated. She nodded to one of her colleagues, whose expression was blacker than the skies above. He raised a flare gun and fired it skyward, a signal for everyone to retreat. And then, as one, Alexandra and her team vanished from the top of the Basilica in a blinding flash of light.

**X X X X X X**

Galford felt it. He had used his supernatural abilities to ask Alexandra why she had not activated the Barrier, and felt her presence fade away. And she was not alone. Her team, what remained after a brutal attack by the servants of the Adversary, had retreated along with her. He reached out for the other Militia teams, only to find the same thing happening. Those that remained reported tremendous losses and were withdrawing from the defensive lines before they were overrun.

His well-conceived plan was falling apart before his very eyes. Without the Barrier, he had no chance in Hell of defeating the swiftly-approaching Nephilim Prince and his former second. Damn them both to the Pit and back again!

_'You know your task,'_ a voice whispered in his mind, _'You know what you must do to deny the Enemy his victory…'_

Yes. He knew what he had to do. He swung his gun towards the kneeling Brandii, and before the horrified eyes of Rebecca, Arikiba and Rasha, shot her.

The moment the girl's blood hit the marble floor, the Basilica shook with a force far beyond any earthquake, its sturdy construction that had endured the time and the elements finally giving way to the forces it was subjected to.

"GALFORD…WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

"What needed to be done, heretic! What had to be done to save humanity…"

"YOU SAD, STUPID FOOL... YOU DID NOT SAVE HUMANITY. YOU DAMNED IT…!"

**X X X X X X**

A white-haired woman in an Israeli army uniform threw her head back and laughed as she felt the sacred wards about the Basilica fall apart. She felt the Tyrant finally turn His back on humanity, felt Him withdraw his Grace that had kept these apes beyond her vengeance. She felt the defiance and blind hate of humanity, and it thrilled her. To their final breath, till the last human was dead and crucified on a field of the dead, they would be most interesting toys.

A soft whisper, a reminder that appealed to the Paladin, and by his hand, he had helped advance her plans considerably. The Gauntlet in the area had weakened considerably. The woman raised a hand, speaking a word in a tongue lost to humanity, calling her weapon to her. A blazing spear materialized in her hand, its incandescence reminiscent of stars and suns at their most glorious.

Now it was time to deal with the traitors that had managed to escape their prison.

**X X X X X X**

And across the world, the effects of Galford's actions were felt. At that very moment, the surviving Avatars across the world started to bleed from stigmatic wounds. The dimensional walls weakened, and a thunderous cry of triumph shook the underworld as fell spirits and beings of legend returned to the world that the Creator had exiled them from.

It was a moment when even the Oracles of Delphi and the mullah Seer Council felt the shockwave. Several of their number died instantly as the psychic shockwave incinerated their minds and souls in an instant. Prophetess Constance, bleeding from her blinded eyes, nose and ears, looked up at one of the Paladins who had been assigned to guard her and her brethren. Her voice, though hoarse, could be discerned by the Paladin.

"What have you done, Bauer…?"

The countdown had begun…

_**To be continued…**_

The countdown had begun.


	13. STOP WORK ORDER

_**Stop Work Order**_

As of this posting, the Angel Halo project has been issued a Stop Work Order. This comes from the reason that it needs to be edited badly and some things put in order. I regret any inconvenience caused by my decision, as I desire to ensure that any work associated with my name is quality work.

I am of a mind to delete this entire story posting and repost it - but where can I put it? Suggestions will be appreciated.

Also, I will post the newest chapters up - brand new and up to standard - as soon as possible.

With regards,

Spiritblade


End file.
